Unethical Behavior
by 9Tiptoes
Summary: Dean starts a new journal based solely on Sam's missing soul and tests his brother to see how far exactly Sam will go with no soul to guide him.  Wow, this is a crap summary. Give it a try anyway.
1. Chapter 1

**_Author's Notes: Welcome once again to land of insanity. If you have been brave enough to step in here...well, I don't know what's wrong with you, there's probably no help for you, but I'm damned glad to have you along. :D Reviews are love, First Born Children; however, will unfortunately be given back as I have no need for any more. And if you really want to appease the Gods, it's Diet Mt Dew and White Cheddar Popcorn that fuels all of this. So, there you are. Please keep all hands & feet inside the car until the ride has come to a complete stop._**

**_Disclaimer: They stole my ideas...again! Those...ugh! No, I'm fine. Really! I'm just playin', but you all know that already. I don't own any of it._**

Unethical Behavior

A study of the judgment of the unsouled.

Subject: Sam Winchester

Monitor: Dean Winchester

When the front door opened, Dean was temporarily blinded by the low hanging afternoon sun. Looking up from his work he was only able to make out the large looming shadow of his younger brother and nothing more.

"Here ya go," Sam's tenor voice rang out through the small motel room. "Not much to pick from. Got ya a double meat and bean burrito." He tossed the bag at the table where it slid home into Dean's outstretched hand.

"What's all this?" Dean asked pulling a covered container out of the bag. "Guacamole? Here, take it. I'm not really hungry." Sam eyed him curiously for a moment and then took the bag back and dug a hand into the bag searching for a loose tortilla chip.

Since discovering that, not only was there indeed a problem with Sam, but that said problem was the lack of a soul, it had been a very tense week. Dean was furious; with Sam for spending so much time hiding the problem and with himself for not following his gut instinct earlier. Sam smartly, did his best to stay out of Dean's way. In one fell swoop, and a broken nose, Dean has reasserted himself as the leader of the brotherly duo and for the first time in several months Sam fell back into his submissive, younger brother role.

"Whatcha got?" He asked around the crunching of the too large chip. "A case?"

"Hmm? No, it's just a little project that I'm working on."

"Project? What kind of project?" Sam leaned over Dean's shoulder and tried to decipher his brother's messy scrawl. "judgment of the unsouled? Dean, what is this? Is, is this about me?"

"Very good, Einstein." Dean brushed his left arm over the wide ruled, spiral notebook to hide the script from Sam's prying eyes. "Now, back off, Sam," he growled.

"No, really. What is it?"

"Fine, okay? It's a case study."

"About me?"

"Yea, kind of. Look, you're like the first of your kind, so I guess I just figured it's important to keep a record of this stuff. Like for the journal, ya know?"

"I guess." Sam processed this quietly for a moment and then frowned at Dean, bent over the table, jotting down notes and checking the computer occasionally. "But, since when did you turn all research geek?"

Dean stopped writing mid-sentence to turn and glare upward at his brother. "Research geek? Well, gee, Sam, let's see. I guess it happened around the same time you decided to go all Dr. Unfeelgood, that's when. Sooner you pull your head out, the sooner we can all go back to normal," Dean raised an accusatory finger at Sam, "and then _you_ can stop using my lines on me."

Sam snapped his mouth shut tight around the uncouth comment begging to be released. With nothing within him to monitor his behavior, Sam relied only on the burning look of anger emanating from Dean's eyes to tell him that he was overstepping their newly laid boundaries. Dean's new rule number one: Lie to me and I bust your face. Rule number two: Piss me off and I bust your face. He had yet to come up with a rule number three, but Sam was sure that the busting of his face would be involved somehow.

Dean turned back to his notebook and although he tried to concentrate, he wasn't able to. He could feel Sam's eyes on him, watching him, studying him, and possibly trying to find a good place to drive home the new bowie knife that hung from Sam's waist. He wasn't willing to put anything past this _stranger_ standing in their motel room. Dean didn't trust him and didn't particularly like him either. As far as he was concerned, without his soul, this man wasn't his brother. He was barely Sam.

So Dean kept an awareness of Sam's doings at all times and it was for that reason that he had decided to start making notes of what he noticed. Maybe there would come a day when his 'study' would come in handy for someone else. It could be the go-to guide on how to detect and protect the souls of your loved ones. Dean smiled. He kind of liked that. Maybe he should make that the title of his project.

"Can I see?" Internally, Dean slammed a palm against his own forehead. He'd let his guard slip and now Sam was standing directly behind him again.

"No," he barked.

"Okay?"

Dean turned in his seat and was very taken back at how close Sam actually was. His first instinct was to stand and put the round table between himself and Sam; anything to keep the skin crawling feeling at bay.

"How's this gonna be a proper case study if you know all about it?" Dean tried to pull off light-hearted, but wasn't succeeding very well. He took a deep breath and conceded a little. "I'll let you see it when I'm done, alright?"

"Anything I need to do for your little study?"

"No. Don't try to help, Sam. I don't _want_ your help." The younger hunter pulled a hurt face that turned Dean's stomach. On his brother, that face would have tugged heartstrings and employed sympathy, but on this man it was a false expression. A lie that only fueled the engine that had been pounding in Dean's head for the last week, replaying the same words again and again; figure this out, fix your brother. "No, wait. You _can_ do something."

Sam brought eager eyes up to meet Dean's, looking to be useful.

"You can stop all the bullshit looks and the trying to feed me what you think I want to hear. I have absolutely no patience for your crap right now. I don't like _any_ of this, but if I'm going to do this bit of research right, then I need you to act like your abnormal, _unnatural_ self and to stop pretending to be my brother, when I know you don't _feel_ it." Dean was slightly surprised by the bitterness of his own voice and regretted saying that last bit, but did not and would not take it back. If there was any chance that this would drill home how betrayed he felt, then it was a chance he'd willingly take. Dean was unfortunately disappointed. Sam's reaction was blasé. He nodded his head in agreement and turned back towards his bed where he tucked his legs up underneath him and sat down to eat Dean's burrito, chips and dip.

Dean gave him one more scathing, narrow-eyed look and then turned back to his notebook. His inner monolog running rampant, he began scratching ideas out onto the paper.

_The dick's already proved that it's no holds barred when it comes to hunting. Gotta think outside of the box. What is it that makes him un-Sammy? No little girl fits, no lady-like sensibilities…OH! _It was like a light bulb lit up inside his head and then exploded in a shower of sparks. If Sam had been _Sam_, the ideas suddenly bouncing around in Dean's head would have made the younger Winchester go running for the hills. Dean grinned devilishly. If this little experiment proved nothing, at least it would prove to be fun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: This chapter was co-written with Zara Zee. My com padre, my cohort, my partner in crime, the ying to my yang, the Kripke to my Gamble. She keeps me straight and centered and then allows me flail around pathetically when it's all done. I owe her all. **

**Disclaimer: Considering they're not mine, they sure seem to bother me a lot. Go Away...Shew! NO wait! Come back!...dammit!  
**

_Moderator Note: Without a soul, modesty flies out the friggin' window. _

Sam was folding a clean pair of jeans and stuffing them into his duffle when Dean burst into the room.

"Don't pack yet, I found us a case."

"Oh yea?"

"Yea. I was talkin' to the cute little waitress at the coffee shop on the corner. Turns out she's all broken up about the recent turn of events at home. Her folks just started renovating the house they bought this summer. Two days in and all this weird stuff starts happening; electrical shortages, furnace issues, things disappearing."

"What kind of things?"

"The cat for one; they found it a day later hanging upside down in the attic."

"Sucks to be kitty."

"Oh! The cat's not dead, just pissed off beyond belief and missing all the hair on its tail. The final straw was when Mom was thrown down a flight of stairs, busted her arm up pretty good."

"We got any leads?"

"Hey, when I go out and get you a present, I bring it back gift wrapped with a bow."

Sam gave Dean a curious look, trying to measure that last statement. "I mean, yes," Dean clarified, "I've got a lead."

"I knew what you meant. I was just trying to remember the last time you got me a present."

"When's the last time you deserved one? Anyway, I got our guy." Dean set a copy of a decades old newspaper article on the table in front of Sam. "Back in the late sixties, a kid named Arnold Dammon used to live in the house. Arnie was brought in on charges of animal abuse when he got caught hanging the neighbor's dog. He was underage at the time, so he had his hand slapped and was released into his parent's custody. 'Bout a month later, he was back at it, but this time he messed with a dog that wasn't just gonna hang there and take it. Tore the kid's throat out."

"Yummy. So, simple salt and burn? That's a little cake for us isn't it?" Sam pulled as close to a true bitchface as Dean had seen since his return.

"A job's a job, Sam and honestly, I don't feel much like trusting you with anything more dangerous. You might feed me to a werewolf next."

"I wouldn't do that, Dean," Sam disagreed, rolling his eyes.

"Sure. Whatever you say. I'm gonna go to the front desk and pay for another night. You do a weapons check, just uh, don't touch my gun. I'll take care of that myself."

"Really? You can't even trust me to load your gun?"

"Now you're gettin' it," and Dean was jogging down the walk and into the motel office where a little silver bell above the door announced his arrival.

"I'll be right with you," came a twinkling voice from behind the counter. Dean leaned around it and on the floor he found a woman buried to the waist inside the cupboard there. He smiled appreciatively as her round, little backend wiggled from side to side as she fought with whatever she was trying to pull free.

"You need help with that?" he asked, his voice laced with humor.

"What?" She jumped at the sound of his voice, banging her head loudly on the shelf above her. "Ow, damn!" She slithered out of the cupboard and came up rubbing the back of her head, pouting slightly. Dean couldn't hide the smile building on his face. _She's gonna work, just fine_, he thought. Cute little thing, strawberry pixie haircut, pretty figure and if Dean had to guess he'd put her a couple years older than himself. Not exactly Sam's recent brunette typecast, but Dean wasn't looking for temptation. He was looking for reaction and he knew on the spot that this was the girl to provide him with it.

Dean reached his hand out to help her up off the floor. "You alright," his eyes swept to the name tag hanging from her green tank top, "Marci?"

"Oh," she breathed, immediately caught up in the handsome face in front of her.

She took his hand and he pulled her up. She was indeed a tiny thing, barely coming above chest height on Dean's 6'1" frame and such a small, delicate hand warming inside his own. He smiled warmly down on her and she breathed aloud again.

Shaking herself out of the 'Winchester trance', she returned his smile, blushing slightly.

"I'm Marci," she stuttered.

"Yea, I caught that," Dean chuckled. She followed his line of vision to her name tag and blushed even deeper. "I'm Dean. We're staying in 3C."

"Oh, God. Yes, I'm sorry. I think I hit my head harder than I thought." Marci pulled her hand free of Dean's, rubbed absentmindedly at the small bump on the crown of her head and stepped behind the counter. She pulled the register book in front of her and turned to the appropriate page. "Here you are. That's right, staying in 3C, you and your…"

"Brother," Dean finished with a smile.

"Brother," Marci repeated. "Of course. Are you checking out then?"

"Actually, no. If you've got room for us, we'll be needing an extra night."

"Marce, are you okay? I heard you…oh. Hi." A little blonde imitation of Marci came swinging into the room and stopped abruptly upon seeing Dean leaning like a rogue against the counter. He smirked. _Sisters. This just keeps getting better and better._

"Stace, this is Dean. He and his _brother_ are staying an extra night in 3C." The blonde sister popped forward into the room, her long slender hand extended in greeting.

"Oh, _brothers_, okay. I'm Staci. Marci and I are sisters; twins actually." She slipped her hand into his and Dean thought he'd gone to heaven.

_No way this stuff happens in real life. Twins!_ He was almost giddy at the thought and nearly slipped into prowler mode, but then just as quickly switched it off. _No hitting on the bait_, he told himself.

Staci stepped away from the handshake and made to join her sister on the working side of the counter. As she rounded behind Dean, she paused for just a moment to take in the backside of his form. She silently raised her eyebrows at her sister, who tossed her an approving look.

Hiding her grin, Marci leaned back into the register to scribble the extra night into the ledger. "I've got you down for another night. It'll be $42.50. Would you like me to add that to the credit card on file?"

"That would be great, Marci." Dean's saccharine sweet voice making both girls giggle. Staci handed Dean a pen and the receipt to sign, her hand brushing his on purpose.

_So Staci's the aggressive one of the two. That makes things simpler._

"You two ladies have a great evening," he said giving his gold prize smile before leaving the office.

The two women leaned across the counter to watch him step, bowlegged out onto the walk, then they collapsed against each other in a fit of giggles and whispers.

* * *

The case of the animal abusing ghost was, as Sam had predicted, cake. They waited until darkness fell and then approached the cemetery from a side road. These recent cases were often easier because the bodies were so readily locatable. The boys took turns digging out the grave and a few silent hours later were roasting marshmallows over Arnie. The car ride back to the motel was equally quiet and if Dean didn't know better, he'd have thought Sam was sulking. _But how do you sulk without a soul?_

Sam exited the car quietly, waited for Dean to open the trunk, did a quick weapons exchange and then just as silently, left his brother standing at the trunk.

"Something I said?" Dean mumbled darkly to himself.

He closed the lid of the trunk and followed Sam into the dark motel room, tossing his weapons bag on his bed by the door. He checked his phone for messages and took it off of silent before setting it on the bedside table. Dean kicked off his boots and fell back onto the bed, covering his eyes with the crook of his arm, melting into the mattress.

"I'm gonna take a shower." Sam didn't wait for a response from Dean. He toed off this grave dirt covered boots and shucked out of his jacket, crossing to the bathroom.

Dean lifted his head, "Hey, you pissed off at me or something?"

"Funny. Like that's even possible. No, I'm just…bored, I guess. We're just spinning our wheels here when we could be doing something bigger."

"Yea, well. I don't really…"

"I know. You don't trust me. I got it already, Dean."

The door to the bathroom shut and Dean sat there and listened for a moment. He heard the water turn on and the shower curtain pull closed behind Sam. After a couple of minutes Dean sprang into action. He dove across the bed for the in house phone and dialed '0' for the front office desk.

"Hey sweetheart, I could use a few fresh towels in our room. Think you could run them on down for me? Thanks, Marce." He set the phone back in its cradle and then turned his head in the direction of the shower, "Hey, don't use all the hot water!" When he received a muffled argument and heard the shower cut off, Dean rolled onto his back, his head nestled in interwoven fingers, grinning from ear to ear.

A moment later there was a soft knock on the door. Dean answered the door, leaned into the frame suggestively and gave the pretty redhead a smile that set a blush racing up her face. She nervously pushed the stack of towels up between their two bodies like a barrier. Dean pulled the door open further.

"If you wouldn't mind, could you go ahead and take them on into the bathroom for me. I've got a few more things to finish up before I start my shower."

She nodded her agreement and stepped into the room. As innocently as possible, Dean turned toward the round kitchenette table and took a seat in front of the laptop. Over his shoulder, he kept an eye on Marci as she entered the steamed up bathroom, counting down in his head for the inevitable.

"Oh my God! I am _so_ sorry." Marci's panicked cries were music to Dean's ears and he waited anxiously to hear Sam's reaction. "Here, a towel. Please," she begged. "I am _so_ sorry, oh God."

Dean couldn't help but burst out laughing when Marci came tearing out of the bathroom, eyes wide and face flame red.

"Did you do this?" She demanded, hysterically. When Dean laughed again, she brought a stiff right hand sailing out and swatted him across the arm, stomped through the door, slamming it behind her. Sam came trailing out of the bathroom after her, towel in hand, working the water out of his hair.

When Dean's eyes fell on Sam in all his naked glory, he chortled and rolled his eyes at the younger Winchester. "Dude, put some friggin' clothes on! Nobody wants to see _that_. You probably scarred that woman for life."

Sam shrugged carelessly and wrapped the damp towel around his waist. He met Dean's keen eyes and frowned slightly, taking a moment to consider the expectant look on his brother's face.

"What are you up to?" Sam asked, finally giving in to the curiosity. "Is this part of your judgment of the unsouled crap?" He knew Dean was looking for something here; he just wasn't quite sure what it was.

"That was Marci," Dean offered with a knowing smile. He spoke in a slow rhythm as if speaking to a small child. "She brought you towels."

"Yea, I noticed," Sam imitated his brother's slow speech with an equally slow nod. Dean's brow furled, first in confusion and then in disappointment. That edge of _something_ was still hanging in Dean's airspace, but Sam couldn't work out what it was that his brother expected from him, so he simply crossed to his duffel and pulled out some clean clothes.

Dean huffed in disbelief. "That's it? Seriously?"

Sam dropped the towel and pulled on his boxers and jeans before turning to face his brother.

"What, Dean? What is it _exactly_ that you're expecting from me, right now?"

"The lady brought towels, Sam…"

"Uh, yeah. We've established that," he deadpanned.

"Marci, the pretty, little redhead that was just here," Dean paused to make sure Sam was following his train of thought. "She brought you _towels_…into the _bathroom_…where you were…_naked_. Is _any_ of this hitting home with you?"

Sam examined his memories for an appropriate response. "Right," he said eventually, "and that would've been _uncomfortable_ for her. Do you want me to go and apologize?"

Dean huffed again, "Not really the point there, Pal."

"Well do you think maybe you could get to the point then?" Sam asked with raised eyebrows.

"In the past…you know…_before_…you'd have been embarrassed as hell by what just happened." Dean watched the younger hunter closely and received a generous _lack_ of expression in Sam's eyes. Dean sighed, running a hand across his jaw, very close to frustration and then realized suddenly that he actually had been awarded with an answer.

"No, you know what? Nevermind," Dean added. "I got what I was looking for." He turned back to the table, pulling his new Soulless Sam journal into reach and flipping to the page marked 'Test One'. At the bottom, he scrawled out, 'Test One Conclusion: Without a soul, modesty flies out the friggin' window.' He'd just…write this experiment up and move on to the next.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean could see Sam studying him, his head tilted to one side, face screwed up in confusion, like he was trying too hard to fit back into the ended conversation. It was disturbing to witness and Dean wasn't sure he liked the look that finally settled on his brother's face.

"You're right, Dean," Sam said with a nod, "I would've been mortified. _Before_." He turned away and shrugged into his tee shirt. "So do you want Taco Johns again tonight, or should we try the Mom 'n Pop down the street?"

"Does the Mom 'n Pop have beer? I could use a beer," Dean answered.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Try as I might, they're still not mine. **

Moderator Note: Soullessness turns everything around backwards, including me.

"Was that Gwen?" Sam looked over the newspaper as his brother slid across the seat of their booth. Dean kicked his legs up to cover the length of the oak bench, leaned his back against the wall behind him and finally crossed his arms tightly over his chest before he even looked at Sam.

"Yea," he grumbled, tossing the younger hunter a dark glare.

"You two are sure getting close," Sam said, hiding the grin behind the paper.

"What the Hell is that supposed to mean? I'm not getting close to any of that freak show family."

"Our freak show..."

"Shut up, Sam," Dean barked, effectively cutting Sam off. Dean turned into the table, grabbed up a sausage link from his plate and bit savagely into it, shredding the skin and spraying grease across his face and hands. Like a cat, he chewed the meat with an open mouth and practically growled at anyone who glanced at him. It was a wonderful start to the day.

"Well? What did she want?"

"Samuel has a case for us. Passed down…or up, I guess, from the King himself." He stumbled over the words, practically choking on them. A bitter taste passing through his mouth and setting up shop in the disgusted look he carried on his face. "Gah, I still can't stand the thought of working for that dick. This goes against every fiber of my being."

"Dean, when are you gonna let this go? It's not like we've got much of a choice. You've done nothing but bitch about it for two weeks straight."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I upsetting your delicate sensibilities? Oh, that's right! You haven't got any."

"Very mature. What's got you so riled up this morning, anyway? I mean other than Crowley and Samuel."

"Nothing," Dean snarled around the sausage. He sat silently for a moment, chewing on sausage and his thoughts alike and final spit out the answer, "Lisa."

Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise. It had been a couple weeks since Dean had mentioned either Lisa or Ben. In fact they'd been so busy trying to come to terms with Sam's missing soul, that he wasn't even sure that Dean had managed two minutes time to even think about the family he'd left behind. And seeing as it was more than a sore subject between the two brothers, Sam wasn't about to bring it up.

"Did she call?" Sam offered hesitantly.

"No. She broke up with me…weeks ago."

"Oh. Well, I…"

"Sam, I swear, if you tell me it's for the best, God help me, I will jump across this table and beat you senseless…again."

"Dean, I wasn't…never mind. Are you? You know, doing okay?"

"Do I look like I'm doing okay?" For once, Dean had actually meant for that to come out bitter and angry and instead, it came out sad and a bit frail. "I miss her," he added.

Dean looked up from the table and towards Sam with an incredible aching visible in his face. He took a shattered breath and leaned heavily onto folded arms. Sam pressed back into the bench seat, subconsciously moving further away from the onslaught of feelings wafting over the table, wincing like he'd been burned by his brother's naked emotion. Immediately uncomfortable, Sam scanned the diner for the nearest exit, but found himself pinned to the seat by his brother's miserable gaze.

"I just...miss her," Dean repeated softly, his vision going hazy with memories. "Quiet nights curled up on the sofa after Ben had gone to bed, waking up surrounded by the scent of her skin. Uh, her skin, like something out of a dream, so soft and warm and the little goose bumps that fly up her arms when I kiss behind her ear."

Dean smiled despite himself, so lost in thought that he failed to notice that Sam was no longer squirming in his seat. Now that Dean's openly strong emotions were toned down by the dreaminess of his speech, the younger man was listening intently to his every word.

"Her hair; ah man, you know how I love long hair, but I've never felt hair like this before; pure silk. And after a shower, if she lets it dry naturally," his eyes sparkled at the thought, "it gets real curly. Big, dark loops of curl just begging for me to wind my fingers into it and tug her into bed."

Sam returned Dean's smile and this time, Dean did catch it. Sam's unbroken attention, listening, watching, like he was trying to read Dean, figure out the appropriate response to the older hunter's outpouring of private information. Interested to see how far he'd be allowed to take this conversation, Dean continued.

"My favorite spot, Sam, my absolute favorite is the small of her back. It's like God created this woman specifically for me, knowing that when I pull her close my hand is going to fit perfectly, right there in the small of her back. With her weight on me, it's like being made whole. Without her, I feel light and empty, but with her lying on top of me, everything is right with the world. And when I sink home…Okay! Really?" Sam shook himself out of the stupor he'd allowed himself to fall into.

"What?" he asked confused.

"You're just gonna let me keep going? I'm spilling intimate details of my relationship here. Hell, I nearly went NC-17."

"Okay. I'm…um, Sorry?"

"No. You're not sorry. You're just backwards and it's creepy, so stop it, alright."

"Alright." Sam sat back into the seat, frowning at Dean. He's spent so much time trying to do the right thing, the things that Dean expected of him, that he hadn't been aware that he was in fact doing the total opposite. "No, not alright. I'm apparently missing it here. Why am I backwards?"

Dean lowered his head, shaking it slowly in disbelief, but when he raised his face to look up at Sam, there was humor etched in every line and eye wrinkle.

"Dude, you are so backwards," he laughed. "Like night and day. My emo-sensitive brother who always wanted to talk out every single feeling he had, now cowers in the corner at the first sign of true emotion. But when the soft-core porn starring yours truly is brought out, he finds a front row seat with a large bowl of extra butter popcorn. That's just creepy, Sam. I don't want you thinkin' about me like that."

"First of all, I wasn't think about you at all…"

"Oh, so you were thinking about Lisa, then. That's…great." With a hint of a dangerous smile, Dean leaned forward. "Don't think about Lisa."

"Right, no, definitely not. But, she really broke up with you, huh?"

"Man, you sure know how to kill a good time," Dean frowned, losing his short laughter high. "Yea, she broke up with me. S'not like I blame her. I scared the crap out of her and Ben. Could have killed the both of them. It's just…I don't know, Sam. 'Sucks' seems like such an insignificant word, but that's how it feels." He laughed hollowly. "Yea, sucks the life out of me." Dean looked up at Sam and noticed that the uneasy look had settled back into his entire body. "And you really don't wanna hear me talk about this, do you?"

"Sorry," Sam tried his best to sound remorseful.

"S'alright. I really don't wanna talk about it anyway." Dean looked down at the plate in front of him, still half covered in cooling food. He wasn't really hungry anyway. "So, I guess we should get going. Gotta meet Samuel and Gwen in Ohio by tomorrow morning. You, uh…"he circled his hand around the table, indicating their meals, "got this?" Sam nodded, pulling his wallet out of his pocket. Dean slid out and rose from the booth. "I'll go pull the car around."

"Hey, Dean."

"Yea?" He looked back at Sam still sitting in the booth.

"You called me Brother." At Dean's confused look, Sam went on. "You just…haven't done that in a while," he said with a shrug.

"Yea. I guess I did."

Dean turned around and walked out of the diner. He pulled the car door open, slid into the driver's seat and turned the ignition over. Then he leaned forward and pulled the new journal out from beneath the seat and opened it to the appropriate page and wrote: Soullessness turns everything around backwards, including me.

**Author's Note: Reviews are liquid gold. Pour me a cuppa, please. I wrote this one with my friend, Darren in mind. This is exactly how he spoke when he first fell in love w/ his girl friend (now wife) and I always really admired how open and emotional he was when talking about her. They're a very beautiful couple.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes: This one's fun. I dare you...DARE you not to giggle. Go ahead. Try. Much love to Zara Zee for keeping me on this side of the sane line and having as much fun with this chapter as I did. Thank you also to everyone who has sent me a review. I love them all and have collected them in a pretty pink ribbon.**

**Disclaimer: Be on the lookout for two escaped prisoners. They are believe to be armed and dangerous and have been reported heading towards the Canadian line. If you spot them, do not approach. Call me immediately and I'll come collect them and take them back home. I'll have to be sure the restraints are tighter next time.**

Moderator Note: Some things don't change.

"Alright, thanks Bobby." Dean kept one hand on the wheel and one eye on Sam who was collecting information regarding a possible case. "Yea, I'll tell him. We'll call you when we know more." With that Sam disconnected the call and finished writing down the address.

"Tell me what?"

"There's a package at the house for you." Sam reached between his legs and pulled his laptop off the floor.

"Really?" Without looking, Sam could hear the smile in Dean's voice; never a good sign. "Maybe it's the newest Casa Erotica that I ordered." When he didn't get a reaction of any kind, Dean tried again. "What? A guy's got needs." At this comment he did finally get a snort of laughter from Sam.

"Preachin' to the choir a bit, aren't you?"

"Oh? Soulless boy's got needs too?" Dean feigned ignorance. Sam didn't look up from the laptop, but shook his head and exhaled a nearly frustrated sigh while he continued to run his searches online.

"Of course I do, Dean." He plastered a false smirk on his face and added, "I'm just better at hiding it than you are."

Dean bit the inside of his cheek as he quickly decided the best direction to take his next comment. What would get the biggest reaction? In the name of science, of course.

"Contrary to popular belief," he started, "you're not all that good at hiding it." This time Sam stopped typing altogether to give Dean his complete attention. "Motel walls are very thin, Sam, and a shower only covers up so much noise."

"Dude," Sam growled in distaste.

Best reaction of the day! Dean was starting to enjoy the challenge that Soulless Sam was providing "Sorry, Sam. Just being honest," he laughed openly. "So, what did Bobby have for us?"

"A Holiday Inn near Harrisburg. Some hunter friend of Bobby's called, said his nephew, who's the manager there, is having problems with a poltergeist. Normally this hunter would take care of it himself, but he's out on the West coast 'til Monday and his nephew is concerned that this poltergeist might cause problems with a group he has coming in this weekend for a convention. Bobby thought maybe we could check it out."

"Convention? This isn't one of those Supernatural conventions of Chuck's is it? Whatever happened to that guy, anyway? I haven't talked to him in over a year. Ya think you know a guy and then he up and vanishes into thin air."

* * *

The Impala pulled into the drive of the Holiday Inn beneath a large banner that read, 'Welcome to the 27th Annual MACA Convention!' Both hunters paused to look up through the windshield to read it.

"MACA?" Sam asked. Dean shrugged in equal ignorance. He drove the car around to the side parking lot and positioned her between two nondescript, white panel vans. The men clambered out, legs stiff from the all night drive and rounded to the trunk for a quick weapons check and exchange before heading inside.

"What's with all the friggin' balloons?" Dean asked upon entering the lobby which was saturated in latex. Bright, colorful orbs floated near the ceiling, while designs of every size, color & shape were littered around the large room. Making the scene even more peculiar was the trio of jugglers that wandered off of an elevator, easily passing knives back and forth between them. Dean and Sam passed a wide-eyed look between each other, but neither opened their mouth to say a word, afraid of what might come out.

"Hi there! Welcome to the Holiday Inn Hotel and Conference Center." An overly cheery man in a management blazer appeared from behind the front desk. He strode purposefully across to meet them at the front door, extending a hand and a broad smile in front of him as he came. But no sooner was he within reach, then the smile dropped from his face and his eyes flashed pure anxiety.

"Please, for the love of God, tell me that you're the guys my uncle sent," he whispered harshly. Dean couldn't help but lean back as the man stepped into his personal space. He looked quickly to Sam, who, under normal circumstances would be the one to come forward to sooth and reassure; of course that was before. Now, Sam stood stone still except for his eyes, which bounced between the manager and the oddities throughout the room. So Dean had to take the reins.

"Dean Winchester," he introduced himself and then indicated towards his brother, "this is Sam."

"Randy Moore," the manager said, again trying to offer his hand, but Dean shook it off with a humorous grin.

"Is that really your name? Randy Moore?" he chuckled and out of the corner of his eye, caught the questioning tilt of Sam's head angled towards him. He turned to Sam and whispered, "Sounds like a porn name."

At the unimpressed look he received from Sam, he quickly cleared his throat to gain his composure. "So Randy, let's walk."

Randy turned to direct them down a long hallway towards the Conference Center, but in doing so had to pass through the three person juggling act. Sam's eyes remained glued to one of the jugglers so that as he walked passed, Sam's head turned until his shoulders and then hips were forced to follow his eye line and he was then walking backwards beside Dean.

Dean watched Sam closely. "You alright?" he asked quietly.

"Fine," was Sam's stiff-lipped reply.

"So, what's going on here, Randy? It looks like the circus has come to town."

"It has. It's the big MACA Convention."

"What's the MACA?" Sam asked cautiously, doubting that he really wanted to know the answer.

"MACA. The Mid Atlantic Clown Association?" Sam nearly fell face first when his feet stopped short quickly and his body kept going forward. Randy apparently hadn't noticed as he continued to walk down the corridor giving details of the large annual convention. Dean, however had noticed Sam's abrupt halt. He smiled knowingly and turned to check out Sam's current mental state, finally grabbing the young hunter around the elbow and pulling him forward down the hall after their guide.

They came to a stop outside a large set of double doors. Randy pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked the spacious meeting room, spreading the doors wide and flipping a hand across the panel of light switches. As the lights blinked on, the men were confronted by a twelve foot tall pyramid of precariously stacked round banquet tables, arranged dead center in the room and swaying slightly at the top.

Dean's lips twitched in amusement.

"At least it's going with the classics."

Neither Randy nor Sam saw anything funny in the situation, both leveling serious looks at Dean.

"I bet the clowns would be impressed," Dean defended.

"This is actually better than I'd hoped for," Randy stated frankly, "at least it's neat. Yesterday the damn thing completely trashed the room."

Dean raised an eyebrow, but didn't lose his amused expression.

"Look, I get it. It's kind of funny…under normal circumstances. But these aren't normal circumstances. I've got two hundred plus guests staying here for this convention and more showing up today for the remainder of the weekend. I can't afford to have something seriously bad happen while they're here. My uncle assured me that you guys were the best and so I'm trusting you to handle this with professionalism and extreme prejudice."

"Of course," Sam said seriously. Dean straightened, mirroring his brother's stiff back and proficient demeanor. "What can you tell us?"

"They were in the middle of a balloon competition last night near the pool when things turned ugly. Well, let's just say 'thank God for the balloons' cause I'd have a hard time explaining to the police how fifty clowns drowned simultaneously." Dean physically struggled to hold his comical reaction at bay, going as far as to suck his lower lip in and bite down hard to keep his laughter from erupting. Randy caught the look all the same.

"Oh, it gets better," he said. "Later last night during the puppet workshop the lady's entire collection of hand puppets jumped up on top of the head table and erupted into a Can-Can line. Honesty, I really don't care what you do, just get it out of here and quickly. We've pushed this morning's events back 'til this evening, but they have a professional photographer coming in at noon, that they can't reschedule."

"Any idea of what we're looking for? Anyone ever die here?" Sam had already moved to the perimeter of the room, searching for clues.

Randy rolled this around for a moment. "No, not really. We had an employee, Edward Gable that retired about a month ago." Sam shook his head, not finding the information useful, but Randy wasn't quite finished. "He retired and then two days later he 'retired'. Old coot lived for this place. His wife said it was all he ever talked about. She thought maybe he'd lost the will to live after he retired."

"Wow and I thought I was tied to my job." Dean thought out loud. "Hmm, this doesn't really _scream_ poltergeist to me, more like a ghost that's really quickly picked up on how to control its environment."

"What makes you say that? He's tearing the place up and putting the guests in danger." Randy asked.

"Ghosts don't always get things right' it's probably just confused. If it _is_ Ed, then he's left himself here on purpose; you just said he lived for this place. So Ed the friendly ghost gets to come to work and do what he loves to do, everyday, for the rest of his unlife."

"It's not all that uncommon. We've just got to find the thing that's binding him here," Sam added.

"There's got to be a connection somewhere, right?" Dean's question was aimed more at Sam than Randy. Sam nodded from across the room. Dean turned back to Randy, "Alright, so do you happen to know where Ed was buried?"

"Mrs. Gable had him cremated."

"Of course," Dean glowered. "How 'bout something he left behind?"

"No, not that I can think of. I'm sorry. I know you need something more to go on and if I think of anything, I'll be sure to let you know, but I need to be heading back to the front. You guys have an hour to do what you can." And with that Randy was out the door.

"An hour? Well, crap, now what?" Dean threw his hands into the air in frustration, letting them fall and slap noisily against his thighs.

"There's gotta be something around here, Dean. We'll just have to spread out and start looking."

"Okay. Meet back here in half an hour?" Sam nodded in agreement. Dean turned to leave the room and stopped quickly, turning back to throw a look at his brother. "Hey, Sam?"

"Yea?"

"Keep your eyes peeled for killer clowns." Before something sharp could be thrown at him, Dean disappeared out the door. If he'd stayed just a moment longer he would have caught the look of complete panic in Sam's eyes and a knife to the gut would have been worth it.

* * *

"Anything?" Sam asked as he skated around the corner. Dean was standing in the doorway looking in, his head tilted to the side in wonder. Sam stepped up beside him, his eyebrows reaching skyward. There in the meeting room, the pyramid of tables still stood. Only now they had all been completely upended, each table sitting upside down on the legs of the table beneath it; an upside down pyramid that balance precariously on the top of one lone table.

"How the Hell do you suppose that stays standing?" Dean puzzled. As if on command, there was a shift in the structure and inch by inch it leaned sideways, collapsing in on itself with a thunderous sound.

"You had to ask." Sam deadpanned, turning to look at this brother. "Hey, what's that?" He crossed in front of Dean to a frame hanging on the wall beside the open doorway. Mounted behind the glass was a shining gold plaque etched with the words: The Edward Gable Meeting Room and above it, stretched tightly in the frame was a uniform shirt bearing a pristine name tag on its left chest that read, Ed.

"You've got to be kidding me! How the Hell did we miss that?" Dean growled. He stomped over to the frame and pulled slightly at it only to find that it was securely fastened to the wall. Sam, however, wasted no time in putting his right elbow through the glass, pulling the shirt free, much to Dean's chagrin.

"Come on, I think I saw a metal waste basket in the room." Sam reached into his jacket and pulled out a flask and a small can of lighter fluid. He dropped the shirt into the bottom of the can and spread the salt and lighter fluid over it heavily and then Dean followed suit, dropping a lit match in as well.

"Is that it?" The two hunters jumped at the unexpected voice of Randy directly them. "Is it done? No more problems?"

"We think so." Dean assured, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

"Good, cuz the photographer's here and he's ready to start setting up the group shot."

"Group…shot?" Sam asked warily.

It was at that moment that a low rumble of feet traveled down the carpeted hallway.

"What the…?' Dean muttered.

Sam's eyes widened as he suddenly found the incarnation of most of his childhood nightmares surging purposefully towards him. Over two hundred garishly face-painted, curly red wig wearing, big shoed clowns were thundering as one unit down the corridor to the meeting room; and Sam was right in their path.

Dean's eyes lit up in unadulterated glee, but only for a second, because a moment later he saw Sam sway ever so slightly. Dean quickly reached out to support his wavering brother, but found the man had gone rigid. One second Sam stood ready to fight to the death against the oncoming horde, the next he was prone on the floor, unconscious in a cold sweat.

"Sam! Shit!"Dean dropped down to all fours, hovering cautiously over his brother. "Hey," he called softly, tapping Sam lightly against the cheek. "Sammy, wake up."

Randy leaned over the fallen man. "Is he alright?" he asked genuinely concerned.

Dean smirked up at him. "Yeah, he's fine. Just a…tiny fear of clowns." Dean inched his fingers together to demonstrate the 'tiny' and couldn't help but cough out a laugh. "Help me get him out of here. You don't want him to wake up in here. Try explaining two hundred clowns dying simultaneously to the police."

Dean shut the car door quietly on his still woozy brother. Together he and Randy had managed to get him out of the room and out the front door before Sam began to come around. A gal from the front desk had been nice enough to bring Sam a bottle of water and Randy had offered to comp a room for the two hunters. Sam was quick to declare his absolute opposition on staying one more minute in a hotel full of white faced demons and with a grin, Dean quietly turned Randy's offer down.

Now that Sam was settled into the car, Dean walked around car and unloaded their weapons into the trunk. He pulled his journal out of the trunk and his phone free from his pocket and hit the speed dial. While he waited for the call to connect he scribbled into the journal. Moderator Note: Some things don't change.

"Hey Bobby. Yea, we got it handled." The permanent smile on his face spreading wider by the second, wiping years off his features and his heart. "So, guess who's still afraid of clowns?"

* * *

**So what did happen to Chuck/God? Are we ever gonna see him again? hmmm. Curse you Eric Kripke for torturing us poor, defenseless fangirls/boys. First you steal Dean's necklace never to return it again, then you give us a peep show of God only to rip him away from us. Curse you! :D**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author Notes: So last chapter I stupidly forgot the most important author note...the MACA convention...Totally real AND going on right now! In the Holiday Inn at the location given. The itinerary...all real. It was like a dream come true finding the info and I hope and pray that I didn't jinx their convention. I may have to call tomorrow to see if any clowns fell in to the pool. Thank you to everyone for reviewing and trust that any doubts you may have had last chapter will be settled now...I hope. :D Also: who caught the ghostbuster line tonight? I did!**

**Disclaimer: They're not mine. I tried, but Sam just doesn't care, so he wanders off easy and of course Dean just sort of follows wherever he goes. **

Moderator Notes: Trust your family, Dumby.

"So…" Gwen scooted forward, leaning her arms over the back of the front seat, her hands skimming the soft black leather of the bench between Sam and Dean. "What do you guys do for fun after a case?"

Dean slowly turned to pass Sam a heated look that clearly read, '_Can you believe this crap? How did I get stuck babysitting cousin, Wednesday?_" and then there was a flash in his eyes of '_I blame _you_ for this._'

"Fine," Sam said aloud, directed at Dean. He turned sideways in his seat and threw an arm up over the back so that he could better see his dark haired cousin. "We don't…ever," Sam obviously lied. "We're two old men who, when we're not working, sit around and stare at each other. In our spare time we whittle wood, smoke pipes and rock in chairs. At least that's what Dean _wants_ me to tell you. What he _doesn't_ want me to tell you is that he's tired of babysitting and can't wait to do a flyby of the compound so that he can push you out the door."

"And I thought we were starting to connect," Gwen pouted playfully, smacking Dean squarely on the arm. The hit startled the driver and he swerved slightly in the roadway. His eyes flashed a moment of panic before he righted his black beauty.

"Hey! Knock that shit off," he snarled, leveling a dark look at her through the rearview mirror before rounding on his brother, "_You've_ got a big mouth." Sam smiled, unrepentantly.

"Dean, I know we don't always see eye to eye," she started sincerely, laying a warm, light hand on his shoulder. He glanced down at the offending appendage and took a deep breath to try and ease the tension he'd felt for a solid three days. The combination of having to follow Crowley's orders and being forced to take Gwen on their latest case had resulted in every single nerve in Dean's body being set on fire and he'd done nothing but snap at both Sam and Gwen the entire trip.

Dean's attitude hadn't bothered Sam one bit. How could it? But Gwen had been affected. At first she'd been offended by Dean's abrupt orders and harsh tones, but she'd quickly figured out that this was his way of keeping some semblance of order in a situation in which he felt completely out of control. Not only did he have to watch Sam's every move, to be his moral compass, but he had to play brother and protector to a woman whom he hardly knew at all. He wasn't familiar with her movements and patterns and it was all very unbalancing. So Gwen put aside her hurt feelings and stepped up to the challenge of impressing Dean. She had followed his lead and read his actions so that when the time came, she would be right where he needed her most. And by the end of the case, they were moving as one; moving like he and Sam used to.

"And I get that you guys are used to working alone," Gwen continued, "but it has been so freeing to be out from under Samuel's scrutiny and Papa bear protection. You can't really blame me for wanting to extend that for just a few more hours."

Dean glanced into the mirror again and caught the very serious expression on her face and recognized it immediately as having once belonged to Sam. That look was the same argument that Sam had expressed when butting heads with their dad so many years before. The need, not to be free from 'the life', but to be free to live 'the life' under Sam's own terms. It must be a Campbell thing, Dean thought, because he was sure that it was exactly what he'd seen in his own mother when she tried to escape the regime of Samuel's previous life. Dean shook his head in disbelief when 'Born Free' erupted into song inside his head. A wave of compassion for the young woman swept through him and he suddenly found himself caving to her.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked.

* * *

They had been surprised to find the small, country bar fairly busy for a Monday night. Upon opening the door, the trio had been met with an up swell of music and voices. Dean held the door for Gwen and then quickly slid in behind her with a grin, letting the door smack Sam smartly in the shoulder.

In their own unique sign language, Dean gave Sam the cue to find a table, while he directed Gwen to the bar to order drinks. With his height, Sam looked out over the crowd and made quick work of finding an empty table that would accommodate the three of them. He took the seat on the outside of the table, knowing instinctively which position Dean would require.

Gwen sidled up to the bar and leaned heavily across to get a good glimpse at the sparking bottles on the other side. The barman, a good looking young man in his late twenties caught sight of the pretty woman at the end of his bar. He wiped his hands on a white cotton towel and threw it up over his shoulder while making his way down to Gwen.

"What can I get you?" he asked making full eye contact, leaning in to give her a warm smile.

"Boilermaker," Gwen smiled back. She pointed across to the whiskey of her choice. "Whiskey with a beer back," she clarified.

"Make that two." Dean said, raising two fingers as he came up beside her. He turned and leaned his back against the bar and then remembered Sam. "Actually, make that three and a pitcher to our table over there."

The bartender poured the drinks, setting them up on the bar and Gwen and Dean took a moment to toss back their shots. Then while Dean was pulling out his wallet, Gwen took a sip of her beer, gathered up Sam's beer glass and shot in one hand and made her way through the throng of people to take a seat opposite of Sam.

"Over, Toots," Dean announced when he joined them, hipping into Gwen's shoulder and moving her over into the chair nearest the wall. She momentarily fought with him for her original seat but then caught the very minute headshake from Sam and understood immediately that this was the Captain's seat and Dean was the Captain. She relinquished the chair without any further argument and even gained a courteous nod of approval from Dean. She'd get this pair figured out yet or go down trying.

From where he was, Dean could comfortably see the entire room and keep a close eye on the door. His eyes followed the long length of the crowd before finally coming to rest on Sam, who in one hand, held his beer up to his mouth and in the other hand, held a copy of today's Telegraph Herald.

"Oh, no." Dean reached over the table and snatched the paper from Sam's hand. "We're off duty, tonight. For _Gwen_," he added. She smiled at the consideration. "No boogeymen, no mean and nasties, no killer clowns, just…family." He leaned back and lifted an arm up and around the back of Gwen's chair, pulling her slightly closer until the chair met the underside of his arm just right and then he smiled at his brother.

Sam who had not reacted at all to having the paper ripped from his hands had indeed reacted to the clown jibe. It had been just over a week since the incident at the MACA convention or what Dean was now fondly referring to as Sam's fainting spell. Sam was still jumpy at the mention of it all. It had been the most incredible response to a stimulus that Sam had expressed since discovering his 'condition' and the result of which had intrigued Dean to no end.

Dean had spent the next day and a half dividing his time between scribbling furiously in his new journal and experimenting further on his unwilling participant. Sam had learned the hard way that avoiding Dean altogether decreased Dean's opportunities for exploration by at least half and so that is exactly what Sam had done; stayed as far away from Dean as possible.

"Relax your crack, Sam. I'm just flippin' ya shit. There's no clowns here, I promise."

"Actually, I've been thinking about this." When Gwen received two confused looks from her Winchester cousins, she clarified, her hands directing the conversation Sam's way. "Your phobia. I've been thinking about it since Dean mentioned the 'incident' last week. Sam brought his attention back to Dean and passed one clear, silent thought to his brother, '_You told her?_' Dean shrugged his shoulders innocently.

"Well, I was just thinking that it's interesting that you are acting on your phobia but not on any other emotions."

"I have emotions," Sam said matter-of-factly. Dean pulled a perplexed face, his brows knitting together and lips puckered as he processed a rebuttal to that statement. Gwen beat him to the punch.

"No you don't, not really. You have the appearance of emotions. You smile, but it's an ingrained response to a familiar stimulus." Gwen rolled her eyes when again she received two very confused looks. _Like talking with children_, she thought. "It's not like you feel the happiness or the humor that should be causing the smile. You smile, because you know you're supposed to. It's the same with everything you do. You're creating the appearance of emotion based on a logical conclusion to whatever's happening around you."

"I'm gonna need another shot if you're gonna keep talkin' like that," Dean groused and he raised a hand to flag down the bartender for three more shots.

"I'm sorry. Am I talking above you?" The question had bite, but there was humor around Gwen's eyes and mouth.

Dean nearly laughed at her blunt comment, but thought better of it. "Naw, Sweetheart. You're just talking, period." With the hand he had draped over her chair, Dean playfully tapped her on the shoulder. "Okay, so tell me. I wanna hear this. Why is Sam _acting on his phobia_?"

The bartender brought around three new shots as well as a second pitcher and the threesome tossed them back after a quick clink of the shot glasses to 'family'.

"His phobia, Coulrophobia, it's not a feeling. It's a hormonal response initiated by his brain. He sees a clown and there's a part of his brain that triggers a release of hormones that put his body into an alert state. Like fight or flight."

"Except for Sam, it's fight or faint," Dean laughed, but upon catching Sam's slight frown, quickly coughed the remaining chuckle away, "Sorry, not funny."

"No, not funny," Gwen shook her head at Dean, "but kind of right. See, I'm thinking…and I could be way off base here, but I'm thinking that without his soul, Sam's body didn't have a way to process the fear that his hormones had triggered. His brain said 'run, run, run' and his body said 'from what?' Then they collided and there wasn't anything more for him to do _but_ fall down. It was either that or rip one hundred clowns apart, limb from limb."

"It was two hundred clowns and I was actually expecting that."

"It was more than two hundred," Sam huffed. "Are you two done talking about cl…my phobia?"

Dean leaned into Gwen and whispered loud enough for Sam to hear. "See, that's the Bitch that I know and love." Together, they grinned across the table at Sam and were rewarded with a falsely dramatic eye roll. "Oh, Oh!" Dean stuttered excitedly, sitting up quickly in his chair. "Are you telling me that this," he waved his hand in Sam's direction, "is his brain's way of saying 'insert bitchface here'? Oh! I'll be right back." And with that, Dean jumped up from the table and practically sprinted for the door.

Sam leaned his forearms on the table, looking at Gwen from beneath lowered eyebrows. "You really don't have to feed him ideas, ya know. He comes up with enough of them all on his own."

"Where is he going?" She asked.

"Probably out to the car. He's keeping a journal on my '_condition_'; putting me through these little tests that he thinks I don't know about."

With concern etched on her face, Gwen tilted her head to ask, "Are you okay with that?"

"S'alright. He's my brother. I trust him." The words were full of meaning, but Sam's voice was emotionless and Gwen nearly shuddered at the lack of expression. "It's a lot easier to just go with his flow. At least I know _he's_ gonna make the right choices since we can't rely on my own decision making abilities."

"He doesn't trust you." It wasn't so much a question as it was a sad realization.

"No. I don't really trust me either. We'll get there…eventually." Sam looked up slowly, his face no longer impassive but rather approving. He gave Gwen a favorable smile. "He trusts you, though."

Gwen was actually taken aback at Sam's statement. Sure, she had made a purposeful effort to achieve Dean's approval, but to think that she may have actually gained his trust in the process was more than she could have hoped for. "You think?"

"Yea. He's been so on edge lately, well, you know, he did nothing but gripe at us these last few days. But tonight was different. Tonight you and Dean were synched up during the case. He needs that; needs to feel the synergy between him and his partner."

'_His partner…what an interesting choice of words_,' Gwen thought. She considered her younger cousin for a moment and wondered how Sam secretly felt about her ability to have gained his brother's trust, where he could not.

"God knows he and I haven't had that lately," Sam continued. "I sometimes think that if I could just find that groove that we used to have, then maybe he'd trust me again."

Gwen's brow furled when she gave the young man a sad look. She wanted so badly to give him reassurance, but she honestly had none to give.

"_But_…tonight was different, because tonight he was relaxed. When he's comfortable in work then he's comfortable away from it. It's definitely not me, so it's gotta be you."

"What's gotta be you?" Dean surprised them both by his sudden reappearance.

"The bartender," Gwen covered, quickly thinking on her feet. "Sam thinks he's looking over here at me." Dean passed a glance over his shoulder at the bar, where the barman was indeed looking in their direction. Gwen wiggled her fingers in a flirty wave and he smiled at her and then quickly turned away when he caught sight of Dean's menacing look. Gwen caught the over protective gesture and stretched out to grab Dean's arm, pivoting him around to gain his attention.

"Believe me when I say," she started, her voice lowering, dangerously, "that if I ever catch you c-blocking me again, we will have a serious problem on our hands."

Dean leaned away from the equally menacing glare Gwen was throwing up at him. He was quick to deliver the appropriate response, "Yes, ma'am." He paused, letting the thought drift across his face and then added, "c-blocking? Really?"

Gwen's expression eased and then she caught sight of the black leather journal in Dean's hands. She reached out and snatched the book and was actually surprised when he didn't attempt to stop her. "What have you got there?"

"It's my Soulless Sam journal," he said with a toothy grin, quickly sitting back down, Dean reached over her arm and flipped the book open to the most recent journal entry.

"Is this…"

"The cl…I mean, phobia entry, yea." Dean's face was lit up with pure glee.

"I thought we were gonna stop talking about that?" Sam asked from behind the fresh beer he had just poured.

Gwen flipped back through the previous entries and smiled. "This is good. Have you seen this?" she asked Sam.

"No, he's not letting me look." Gwen glanced up at him to check for signs of distress, but once again there was no heat behind Sam's words.

"When I'm done. Be patient, Sam. So," Dean clapped his hands, rubbing them together, eagerly. "I've got an idea."

"That sounds ominous," Sam and Gwen echoed each other.

"Well, we've figured out that Sam's phobia is a brain thing and I've heard that his sexual urges are a body thing." Gwen's head popped up suddenly from within the journal. She looked first at Dean, shocked that he could even bring up such a topic; and then at Sam, who just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head in mock humor.

"So I'm just wondering," Dean continued, "what happens when we get him drunk." And with that he signaled the bartender. The man approached reluctantly with the bottle to refresh their shot glasses. Dean handed him a wad of bills. "Leave the bottle and bring us a fresh pitcher."

"Please," Gwen added with a bat of her eyelashes. The bartender nodded his head at her and left the bottle on the table.

* * *

A few hours later and Sam, Dean and Gwen were the only patrons left in the establishment. They'd finished what was left of the bottle and had moved on to straight beer. Gwen was leaned over the black journal, a pen balanced between her teeth and a funny grin on her lips.

"What are you writing?" Dean asked, leaning way too far into her personal space. "Phone number? Whose is that? The bartender?"

"No, that pretty blonde that was checking you out earlier. Her name's Celia and you were in no condition to deal with her, so I thought I'd do you the favor of getting her digits."

"Ya know? I'm really startin' to like you." He threw an arm around her neck and pulled her in close, their heads connecting like old friends.

"What else is family for?" she hugged back. "So? What's the consensus?" she motioned at Sam. The young hunter sat across the table, straight as a statue, his hands folded neatly on the table, his head bowed ever so slightly to the side in thought.

"Sam?" Dean lowered his line of sight to find his brother's eyes beneath the long hair that had fallen over his face.

"I'm fine, Dean. Look, no effects at all. I don't know what that really tells you, but there you go. Now, if you're ready, I'll drive us all back to that hotel down the street."

Sam pushed his chair back from the table, stood and turned to take a step towards the door. And then the tall young man fell like a tree to the floor in a heap of denim, hair and beer fumes and was immediately snoring softly. Dean and Gwen looked over the table at him, then at each other and fell back into their chairs, leaning on each other as they laughed drunkenly. Gwen raised her hand and called out to the bartender, "I think we're gonna to need a ride."

On the table between them lay Dean's journal. At the bottom of the newest entry, scrawled out in Gwen's neat hand writing was a new addition; Mediator Notes: Trust your family, dumby.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Notes: It's long, folks...long for me any how. There's a line from Family Guy in here. Can anyone pick it out? Big kiss to anyone who can. LOVE LOVE LOVE my beta and co-writer for this, Zara Zee. And yes, you did, so shush. Without her help this would have taken at least another week. **

**Disclaimer: Has anyone seen the guys? I let them out the other day for some fresh air and they've yet to come back. I'm getting worried that something might have happened to them, like they found their way back to Sera and company. Who knows what they'll get up to over there?**

Moderator Notes: Never give up…people's souls don't just disappear…other people just stop looking for them.

"I don't understand why we're here. Why didn't we just go back to Samu…"

Dean pulled to an abrupt stop, shifting into park a little more forcefully than he'd intended, and cut the engine. He turned sideways in his seat and held a stiff index finger up to stop Sam mid-sentence.

"Do I _need_ to have a reason to not want to go back to the Campbell Compound? I've got a million of them, which would you like? I need a day, Sam. Just…give me _one_ day to regroup, alright?"

Before Sam could argue, Dean swung the door open and stepped out onto the crushed gravel drive of Singer Salvage; and then had an additional thought. He leaned over the roof of the Impala and caught Sam's attention as he also climbed out.

"One more thing," Dean added, seriously. "I need one day…of silence." Sam's brows met high on his forehead in uncertainty.

"I need for you to be quiet," Dean clarified, bringing his finger to his lips in a recognizable shush motion. "Ever since you decided to _come clean_, I haven't had a moment's peace. You're like a kid that can't help himself; you just never shut up. And as much as I appreciate your being honest with me, there comes a point where it becomes too much of a good thing."

Not waiting for a rebuttal, Dean closed his driver's door and rounded to the trunk for their bags. Frowning severely, Sam followed suit.

"I don't understand. So, you want me not to talk to you?"

Sam reached in for his pack and selected his Taurus from the cache, placing it in the open weapons bag. Dean zipped the bag and slung it over his shoulder and closed the lid on the trunk.

"That's the idea."

"For a day?"

"Now you're getting it."

"That's fine, but don't you think we ought to be looking…"

"Nope," Dean interrupted again. "I got it covered. In fact, here, give me that." Dean took Sam's backpack off of the younger man's shoulder and slung it up on to his own. "I'll take these inside, get us settled. Why don't you go take some time to enjoy the weather while the temp's still high enough to enjoy.

"Enjoy the weather?"

"Yep, go soak up the November sun while you can."

"The sun? Dean, how is my sunbathing going to help us get my soul back?"

"Fine." Dean's voice was biting as he began to lose patience with the circular conversation. "Why don't you take a soul searching walk around town to Dust in the Wind? Maybe Kansas will inspire you with a solution to our problem."

With that, Dean turned, leaving Sam standing alone and confused at the backend of the long car, his hands stuffed down into his pockets to keep them warm in the cold November air.

Dean was met at the top of the stairs by Bobby and although he nodded a welcome to Dean, the older hunter's eyes never left the young man standing in the drive.

"Everything okay?" he asked cautiously, opening the front door to allow Dean and his baggage inside.

"Fine." Dean's gruff, clipped answer gave away his true feelings.

When Bobby quirked a doubting eyebrow, Dean laughed cynically, dropping their bags on to the sofa. "Have you ever wished for something that you thought you really wanted only to discover that it's the worst possible thing to have?"

"That bad?"

"Bobby," Dean grabbed his friend around the upper arms, turning him so he was looking dead on into Dean's bewildered eyes. "It's like he's opened the flood gates and all of last year's nasty little secrets and indiscretions are pouring out. And you don't _even_ want to know what he gets up to at night when I'm sleeping."

Dean stepped back in a daze as vast amounts of unwanted information flowed through his brain. "For that matter," he continued, "I wish I could scrub those particular confessions from my mind." He reached a hand up and forcefully rubbed at his temple like he was trying to do just that.

Bobby gave the kid an amused grin and patted him loosely on the shoulder. "Guess you're gonna have to be more careful what you wish for."

"You think this is funny? _Sex_, Bobby! He's talking about _sex_! Sam! In much unwanted detail and _lots_ of it. _That's_ what he gets up to at night." A powerful shudder ran down the length of Dean's back and he made a grand show of shaking it off, crossing his eyes and produced a retching sound to demonstrate how truly affected he was by Sam's sudden Honest Abe routine.

"You need a beer," Bobby stated.

"_A_ beer? As in _singular_?"

Sam had come to the end of the long lane where the gravel met the pavement, quietly singing to himself. He hadn't meant to start singing, but Dean had gone and mentioned the song and now the Kansas lyrics were stuck in his head with no other means of release than from Sam's own lips.

Sam looked left and then right trying to decide which direction could possibly hold his interest more, finally choosing right into the small business district that he knew lay a couple miles down the road.

"A _walk_. Really?" he said to himself. "What does he think this is going to do for me? Except maybe get me away from him for a while."

When he'd finally decided to lay it all out there for Dean, it had been liberating. Now he no longer had to pretend to be someone he wasn't or try to keep up appearances for Dean's sake.

Sam had told Dean that he didn't really care about him and that was true for the most part. His entire life and even now in his re-life, Sam had given Dean a special label; Family, Brother. And while those labels no longer held the same emotional value for Sam that they once did, they still held a high of importance. Dean was important because he was Sam's brother and that label meant that he was reliable.

Sam knew that there was nothing more important to Dean than family. He would go to any length and employ the most drastic means necessary to protect his own. And even though Sam had come completely clean about the man he was now, Dean's definition of family still appeared to include him; with soul or without. Despite the fact that the truth had probably hurt Dean, at least it had regained Sam an element of trust. Okay, maybe all that Dean could trust in was the fact that he couldn't trust Sam any more, but at least Sam had been up front about it, and he had a feeling that Dean had appreciated that. Dean needed to know where he stood with people. Knowing the truth about Sam meant that Dean would be able to overlook all the inconsistencies that Sam could no longer could stop looking at Sam as someone who was deliberately, willfully deceptive and cruelly manipulative and instead see him as someone damaged; someone who needed saving. Sam needed Dean to have his back, even if he couldn't, in all honesty, guarantee that he had Dean's.

Confessing the truth had been freeing, Sam thought, grinning. "And it's been entertaining too," he said aloud to no one.

The morning following Sam's revealing confession, he'd come traipsing into the hotel room around 6am to find Dean sitting on the bed, his back against the headboard, arms crossed over his chest like a pouty child. He was fully dressed, shoes and all, looking like he'd been waiting hours for Sam to come home.

"Sam," Dean greeted in annoyance.

"Dad," Sam returned, imitating the same tone. Dean ignored the jab and scooted to the edge of his bed, legs draped over the side, elbows rested easily on his knees.

"What _exactly_ is it that you do while I'm sleeping?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Well, since you asked, I've gotta say that I'm a little concerned for the general public. I mean, you've openly admitted to popping off a few innocent bystanders. Who's to say you're not going out there at night knocking off liquor stores and pushing little old ladies out into traffic."

"I'm not."

"Okay, so convince me. What are you doing?"

Sam's jaw jutted to the side as he considered his answer and then lifted his eyes in a look that could only be described as wicked.

"Well, last night she was about 5'8" with long black hair and green eyes."

Sam caught the judgmental expression Dean was casting his way and smirked, "What? Just saying."

It was obvious to Sam that Dean held no appreciation for Sam's newly revealed dark sense of humor. He seemed to find it distasteful and inappropriate which was really saying something considering Dean's personality. As far as Sam was concerned, Dean had gone soft during his time with Lisa and he found himself almost missing the Hellbound Dean of three years ago; the one with nothing to lose and no time in which to consider how his behavior might affect others around him. That Dean would have found Sam's comment funny and would've probed Sam for details. This Dean, however; just gave Sam deeply disapproving looks.

"Voracious appetite," Sam added, "She went for hours without tiring out…"

"Sam, I would sooner stab myself in the ears than listen to you talk about having sex. Poor girl," he added, "just her luck to meet you, Dexter, and not the better half of the Dynamic Duo. At least I would know how to treat her right. Hell, I bet you didn't even buy her a drink first."

"Didn't need to. Direct approach works remarkable well. The night's long enough without having to throw small talk and drinks into the mix."

From that point on, much to Dean's chagrin, Sam had been more than willing to share all the details of his nights. He figured that if Dean was so concerned about his doings, then Sam would keep him well informed. That had been three days ago. Three days, two towns & four women ago, to be exact. In his defense, Sam had claimed that there were many hours in a night and he needed something to occupy his time.

Which is exactly why he smiled when he looked up to find himself standing outside of the local sporting goods store. He was certain to find something inside to keep himself busy for a while.

Afternoon had bled into evening and the temperature outside had quickly dropped to a cool thirty-eight degrees. With the light moisture in the air, they were guaranteed to see a dusting of snow before morning. Sam had wandered into the house about a half an hour after sundown and found Bobby and Dean laying out the makings of a sandwich. Bobby had offered to make him up one, but Sam had turned it down and excused himself to prepare for a shower.

Two hours later and he had yet to reappear, but neither man downstairs had noticed as they were too busy pouring over notes and plotting locations on maps. So focused on their work, they were both startled when a stiff rap echoed from the front entrance. Together they turned swiftly away from the desk and approached the entry; Dean's hand up the back of his shirt, his grip firm around the handle of his Colt 1911. Bobby stretched up to look through the small windows at the top of the oak door and then relaxed, grasping the handle and pulling it open.

Sheriff, Jodi Mills stood in the darkened doorway with her cover tucked tightly beneath her arm, brushing at the light snow flakes that dusted her shoulders. Bobby stepped aside, allowing her entrance and she smiled warily at Dean upon entering the home.

"Sorry to bother you this late, Bobby, but I've had a complaint from in town." Bobby grunted in displeasure and moved passed her down the hall, back into the library.

"Whatever that idjit, Brockmore's told you, it's a lie. I did not shoot his dog. Hell's bells, it wasn't even a dog."

"Do I even wanna know what it was?" Sheriff Mills asked, looking to Dean to make sense from insanity.

"Probably not. If Bobby says it wasn't a dog, it's just best to leave it at that."

The sheriff turned back to the older hunter. "The complaint is not about you or your problems with Ted Brockmore. It's about Sam."

Sam chose that exact moment to enter into the library and pulled up short when he heard his name. Sheriff Mills tilted her head to look at the young man. It was obvious to her that Sam knew why she was there and where she'd hoped to have found regret, she instead found disinterest.

This wasn't the same boy she'd met a year and a half ago; the one who had guided her through the horrific experience of losing her husband at the hands of her own zombified child. _That_ Sam had shown an amazing amount of compassion and empathy to so many of her citizens, in a time which demanded fast decisions and a faster gun. This was not that Sam.

Jodi Mills felt the mother in her wanting to overpower the sheriff instincts. She wanted nothing more than to pull him into a fierce hug and then slap him upside the head; knock some sense into him. But this instance required the influence that only her badge could provide and so she squared her shoulders and used an authoritative voice to speak to Sam.

"Clive Poole called today, Sam. He said that one of his employees witnessed you leaving the store with merchandise you hadn't paid for."

"Sam wouldn't do that," Bobby groused, giving Jodi a severe frown.

"Yeah he would," Dean countered. "What'd you take, Sam?"

"Dean..."

"Cut the crap and just tell me." Dean voice was laced with disappointment. It should have reduced Sam to humble repentance, but instead he became defensive.

"It's no different than what you do, everyday," Sam argued stoically.

Dean flashed him a warning look, leaning his head in the Sheriff's direction. All they needed was for Sheriff Mills to find out about all the credit card scams that Dean ran on a regular basis. She was already in the know regarding their illegal aliases and that in Dean's opinion was far more leverage than he was willing for her to have over them.

Dean had long ago decided against using the cards in towns and establishments that could even remotely be related to their friends or acquaintances. He figured that evened out his karma level in some respects, but now Sam had gone out and screwed it all up by stealing from a store in Bobby's home town; a town in which, for a change, they actually had the law enforcement on their side. _Friggin' lovely_.

"Sam?" Bobby questioned, unbelieving.

This had been the boys' first trip home since discovering the truth about Sam. Sure Bobby was completely aware of the situation and had even witnessed the strange difference in the younger brother over the last year, but actually putting a name to the problem had opened his eyes and he was now seeing Sam in a new light.

"Son, Clive Poole is a friend of mine. He keeps me stocked up in ammo and supplies and he gives them to me at a pretty steep discount. Those shell casings that you're gonna be loading tonight come from him. Dammit, Boy, this is my home. If nothing else, you should at least be able to follow the logic of 'you don't shit where you eat'. What the Hell is the matter with you?"

"Bobby," Dean soothed in a low voice, putting a hand on his irate friend's shoulder, steering him towards the kitchen and away from Sam. "Go. I'll take care of this."

"He's a grown man! You shouldn't _have_ to be taking care of any of this. If he'd just come to us sooner, maybe trusted us a little more…but _no_. Not Sam Winchester. Mister I've Gotta Save the World by Myself _and_ Die Trying." Bobby rounded on Sam again, spinning Dean around with him as he went.

"You're as bullheaded as your father ever was and if I didn't love you like my own, I'd walk you out that door with my shotgun just like I did John. Yea, you take care of this," he growled at Dean. "Damn well _better_ take care of this. Put a damned leash on that kid or something."

"Come on, before you stroke out on me," Dean again steered Bobby towards the kitchen, a hand firmly on each shoulder. He gave him a squeeze and spoke quietly over his friend's shoulder, "You need a beer."

"_A_ beer? As in _singular_?" Bobby deadpanned, mirroring Dean's earlier sentiment and stalked towards the fridge. Sure that he would be given at least a minute to get Sheriff Mills sorted, Dean turned back to the library.

"You!" he glowered at Sam. "Sit your ass down. Jesus, Sam. You're like a needy four year old. You already have _all_ of my attention. What more do you want?"

Dean took a deep breath, releasing it slowly before twisting around to address the awaiting officer. Her sad eyes had yet to leave Sam. She was studying him, looking for the man he had been and Dean could read the empathy as plainly as he could the map lying on the desk.

"Sheriff…Jodi…There's no excuse for what my brother did, but I've got enough trust in you to give you the truth and hope that we'll be able to work something out. A lot's changed since you first met us."

Jodi turned away from Sam to give Dean a dubious look.

"You can tell, I see that," Dean continued. "I don't know how much you really want to be told, ignorance is bliss and all that, so I'll give you the abridged version. Sam saved the world from Apocalypse Now by throwing himself into Hell. He was dead as a door nail, our Sam. But he's back now…and no, he's not a zombie. We're talking good old fashioned resurrection only…he came back with a piece missing. A demon, called Crowley…aka King of Friggin' Backstabbing…is holding Sam's soul hostage. So Sam gets to walk around doing all kinds of dumb ass things he'd never have dreamed of doing before the big swan dive. And if we ever manage to get his soul back, I'm sure he'll spend the rest of his life groveling to each and every person he wronged in his soulless time." Dean took a deep, cleansing gasp and released it with a, "Whew!"

"How was that abridged?" Jodi asked in shock.

"Trust me, it's abridged." Bobby re-entered the room, a nearly drained bottle of beer hanging from his fingertips.

Dean stepped forward to block his entrance. "Whoa, are we cool? Cuz, I don't feel much like pickin' you up off the floor if your blood pressure skyrockets again."

"We're peachy and my blood pressure is just fine," the old hunter grumbled, patting Dean roughly on the chest.

Jodi regarded them all thoughtfully.

"Sam," she addressed the disinterested younger hunter directly, "if you agree to give me back whatever it is you took, then I'll smooth things over with Clive."

"What will you tell him?" Dean asked.

"I'll make something up. Tell him Sam's a war vet or something, with PTSD. Explain that he's developed kleptomania but is seeking treatment. Clive's got a son serving in Afghanistan. He'll be sympathetic and won't press charges."

"Thank you. You heard the lady, Sam. Hand it over."

"No."

"Sam, this is a good deal. Hand it over!"

"I didn't agree to this."

"I don't friggin' care what you agreed to. This will keep your ass out of jail, so before she changes her mind, give the nice Sheriff back whatever it is you took." When Sam didn't move right away, Dean rolled his eyes. "_Today Christmas_."

Sam popped up off the sofa so quickly that Dean took a step back into a fighting stance. Instead they took a moment to level dark looks at each other before Sam finally gave up. He lifted his right foot to the arm of the sofa, raised his pant leg and unlaced the sheath strapped to his boot. Sam wrapped the bindings around the covered knife and pushed it forcefully into Dean's hands.

Dean pulled the knife free and was surprised to find a black handled Buck Nighthawk. The six and a half inch blade was beautiful, although small by their standards, good only for close fighting and not much good at doing any real damage to most of the monsters they faced on a regular basis. It was far from a necessity and Dean frowned again.

"Really? What were you gonna do with this? Scratch the bad guys?"

"I liked it. Looked fun."

"Fun? Man, you've got a twisted definition of fun." He sheathed the knife and handed it safely to Sheriff Mills. "Let me know if I need to do anything further, okay?"

"I will. Bobby, I'll be seeing you." The hunter smiled and nodded a goodnight. "Sam." Sam didn't bother to look at her.

He'd found a seat again on the sofa and was leaning back with his arms crossed in annoyance.

Dean walked Jodi down the short hallway to the door, finding the handle in the dark and opening it for her. Jodi turned at the doorway and glanced back down the hall one last time before meeting Dean's eyes. Even in the dim entryway, he looked tired.

"Take care of him, Dean," she said sadly.

He cast his eyes down and nodded. "I'm trying."

She placed a warm hand against his jaw, drawing his eyes back up. "Take care of yourself too."

He gave her a half smile and nodded a second time. "I'm trying," he repeated, his voice a little lighter this time. "Thanks, Jodi."

She placed her cover back on top of her head and stepped out into the light snow flurries, Dean watching her until she reached her vehicle and turned over the engine. Then he closed the door and prepared himself to deal with the storm he could feel brewing down the hall.

Bobby was glaring daggers from the doorway while Sam sat quietly disinterested in anything that either Bobby or Dean would have to say. Not that he would be given a choice.

"Are you out of your mind?" Dean started. "All this over an itty bitty pig sticker? Is this some kind of joke? Cuz if it is, I don't see the humor in it."

"And I don't see what the problem is. We take things all the time and what we don't take, we purchase with fraudulent credit cards."

"That's different."

"How so?"

"Hunting's not like the NFL, Sam. We don't get paid to travel around the country and put on a good show. Now if people would like to start paying us to gank spirits or decapitate vamps; if Obama could see his way to reimbursing us for all that the Apocalypse cost us, then I'd be happy to stop using the American banking system to subsidize our brand of national security."

"So, if it's for hunting then it's okay to steal."

"Yes….no…it's complicated."

"I could have hunted with that knife, Dean."

"You _are_ out of your mind. What exactly were you going to hunt with that? Unless someone's come along with a vampire bunny rabbit, I think you're out of luck. Besides which, you've got a trunk full of knives out there. One in every shape, color and flavor. You didn't need that knife. You just saw it and wanted it. There is a difference, you know."

"Are we done with the lecture?"

"Why? You got somewhere you gotta be? Another conquest to tide you over till tomorrow? This is just another example of the many reasons you should be running everything passed me. Cuz when it comes to making normal, everyday decisions, you've got no clue where that line between right and wrong lies. If this is how you act with me watchin' your back, I'd hate to see what you were doin' without me."

"Seems to me like I did just fine this last year without you there to monitor my every move."

"Seems to _you_…well there you go. How would you even know? If you can't even figure out that shoplifting is wrong and all that sluttin' around you've been doing because you're _bored_…"

"Are you jealous? You're not getting laid anymore, so you think you gotta put your foot down on my activities?"

"_What_?" Bobby stepped forward just in time to catch the off balance lunge that Dean made in Sam's direction. He wrapped his arms tightly around Dean's chest and used his weight to press him into the wall, effectively holding Dean at bay although it did not stop his thrashing. Sam stood and took a defensive stance waiting for Dean to break though Bobby's hold.

"Geroff me. Where the Hell do you get off comparing me to you? I'm not getting _laid_, because the woman I _want_, won't have me…because of you. You've done nothing but cause me grief since popping back up and if I didn't love my brother and want him back so damn much, I'd have dropped your ass off the side of a cliff already."

"Dean," Bobby growled in warning.

"No, Bobby. Everyday it's something else. Do you know how hard it is to deal with a grown man that has to be re-taught all the basic ethical standards? Honesty, trust, integrity, he understands none of it. It's like working with a child. A big friggin' child that carries a very dangerous gun. And then to top it off I have to work for Crowley! And you just know we're getting screwed in that deal. He's not gonna give Sam's soul back.

"So we take it back."

"And what, get you fried in the process? Jesus, do you even listen to yourself? I'm not taking that chance. We play by the rules or he snaps his fingers and you go poof."

"We've got other options."

"What options do we have, Sam? What could you possibly have that will work against that son of a bitch? If you'd have just let me burn his bones when I had the chance…"

"We've got demon blood."

"_What_?" Bobby and Dean both shouted at once. With Bobby distracted, Dean was able to break free of his hold and in one swift motion had his Colt in hand and was crossing the room looking beyond dangerous.

"You so much as think about it," he snarled, leveling the barrel at Sam's chest, "and you won't need to worry about Crowley anymore. You'll have me to worry about. I'll lock you so far away, you'll never see the sun again."

Dean spun away, running his hands up into his hair in anguish. Bobby watched cautiously from the side as Dean swung around to brandish the gun at Sam again.

"I oughta shoot you just for mentioning it…_demon blood_," Dean spat, the words flying from his mouth like he'd bitten into something foul. "Did Crowley take your college smarts as well as your soul?"

Bobby crept forward until he was close enough to put a hand on Dean's arm. "Put the gun down, Son, before you do something you'll regret."

Dean looked at Bobby, confused. Then he looked down at the gun gripped tightly in his hand and immediately began trembling. Dean hadn't realized he'd lost control and had been waving the gun around so absentmindedly between himself and Sam. Bobby's hand followed Dean's arm until it met the gun metal and then slowly eased it from his grasp.

Once Dean was disarmed, Sam picked up the argument again.

"Dean, it'll make me…"

"What? Stronger?" Bobby interrupted, disbelieving. "I feel like shooting you myself now."

"It's worth a try though, right?"

"Why couldn't I have just _one_ day? Huh?" Dean closed his eyes, shaking his head, an inner monolog running rampant in his mind.

"Okay, so let's pretend for just a second that I'd actually _consider_ letting you do this. What makes you think that your mojo'll even work without your soul? Maybe you won't be able to tap into it."

Sam shrugged.

"So we do a test; catch us a demon and see if I can gank it before we go up against Crowley."

"Unbelievable. You're a bigger moron than I thought. Have you even _considered_ the possibility that if you do this, you'll be playing right into Crowley's hands?"

Sam shook his head in disagreement, but it would take more than a simple head shake to sway Dean.

"Maybe all you'll do is turn yourself into something closer to a demon than a human. Maybe this time your eyes will turn black and stay that way. What did that Alpha vamp say? Without a soul, you'd make the perfect animal? What's the use of getting your soul back if you're no longer human? No. I won't let you do it."

"Dean's right, Sam. You go messing round with that poison and try to take on Crowley, all that's gonna happen is you'll piss Crowley off and he'll take it out of your hide; and that's best case scenario. Worst case, we lose you altogether. It's just not worth the risk."

"It's an idea. At least it's something. What else have we got? The way we're going, we may never get my soul back. What then, Dean?"

"Sam, don't you understand that I'm just trying to keep you safe?"

"Yea, I get it, Dean. But you're gonna have to realize that if we don't come up with a better plan…if we don't succeed in getting my soul back, then this is what you're left with. _Me_. Not your brother. Not Sammy. _Me_. And sooner or later you're gonna have to come to grips with that. If this is what you're left with, will you still be trying so hard to keep me safe?"

Dean backed down, his face lined with anguish. He'd buried his fear that Sam's soul may be unattainable deep within the recesses of his mind, never for one second allowing himself to put a voice to it; to accept the possibility that he might not get his brother back. Now Sam had brought that fear out into the open and Dean had lost the will to fight with him any more.

"I'm going for another walk…" Sam said after a moment,"…do some more _soul searching_. I won't leave the property this time, I promise." Sam turned toward the door, but Dean reached out to catch him by the arm.

"Sam." Dean took a slow, shaky breath and then locked eyes with his younger brother. "I will always…_always_ try to keep you safe. No matter what. I'm not gonna give up on you. You believe me, right?"

Sam's face was inscrutable.

"Oh course, Dean. I believe you."

He reached for the door and stepped out into the night; the snow falling harder, leaving a thin blanket over the sidewalk and the Impala. Dean watched Sam disappear into the dark corners of the salvage yard. He paused to look up into the sky, the snow falling quickly in large fluffy flakes and smiled at the pretty sight before closing the door. He walked back into the library and retrieved his journal from within his duffle.

Moderator Notes: Never give up…people's souls don't just disappear…other people just stop looking for them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Wow, sorry it took so long to get this chapter up. It's not like me to wait for so long. It has been very busy for me the last three weeks, but I am finally to a quiet time, so maybe I'll be able to get a few more done. Please review as I love to hear your opinions. Those that have before, know that I'm a review whore. Much love to my beta, Zara Zee - keep your eye on the mail. Your check is coming. ;)**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be and I'm sorry that I can't share them with you.** _Now that the legal issues are out of the way, send me a PM and we'll talk._

Moderator Notes: Only an angel…

"Cas? If you can hear me…I know you're busy up there, but…I could really use your help."

Dean sat on the edge of his motel room bed, looking up towards the dingy, fly specked ceiling. He grinned and chortled a quiet laugh when he imagined Cas sprawled out on a fluffy pink cloud, looking down on Earth, growling, 'What the Hell does he want now?' Dean let his head fall against his chest in fatigue, but his laugh continued to roll in his chest.

"You must think I'm really pathetic. Can't even handle my own problems. Gotta get you involved in everything. What is it they say, lay all your problems at the foot of the cross? For once, I can promise you that this is not like that. Not even close. So if you can see your way free to helping me, I'd be…" Dean paused trying to find the right words. Everything he came up with sounded fake or douchey.

"I think 'grateful' is the term you are looking for."

Dean laughed again, lifting his head to meet his friend's equally tired gaze.

Castiel sat on the opposite bed, mirroring Dean's posture; his tie undone completely, his hair, if possible, more ruffled than ever. A bit surprised by the angel's haggard appearance, Dean did a quick check of himself to find he was nearly in the same state, clothing wrinkled and out of sorts, and if memory served, the mirror had shown dark circles beneath his eyes that he'd been unable to wash away with a splash of cool water.

"Don't we make a pair? You look like Hell, Cas."

Castiel recoiled at the comment, his brow wrinkling in bewilderment. "I do not see the resemblance. Hell is much larger than this vessel. And full of fire…."

The angel tilted his head curiously when Dean chuckled again. "Are you alright, Dean? You are acting very oddly."

"Sorry, I'm so tired, I think I'm punchy."

"Someone hit you?"

"No…it means," Dean exhaled and shook his head, realizing that it would do him no good to explain it to the angel. He added, "Nevermind. So…I'm going to go out on a limb and say that since you're here, you might be willing to help me?"

Castiel nodded once and lowered his head to watch Dean from beneath a wary brow. "I have…taken the day off."

"So…that's a no?"

"Dean, your problems are like a grain of sand in a world of desert compared to the problems of Heaven. Helping you will be like a vacation."

Dean's eyes rolled upward and he mouthed the words as he tried to work out the riddle of Castiel's answer. "So, that's a yes?"

"Yes."

Dean sighed in relief and then frowned. "Wait…do angels _take_ vacations? Like Club Med Cloud 9?" Receiving a dark look, Dean quickly continued, "Sorry. So, I need help with Sam."

"Like there could be any doubt. What is it that you want me to do? I do not know how much help I can be where Sam's soul is concerned."

"No, no…We've got a handle on that, or well…we will have. It's complicated and it makes my skin crawl, but I'm dealing with the situation the best I can. No, what I need is a bit of help in making Sam a bit more…user friendly?"

"And how is it that you think I will be able to help with that?" Castiel asked , more than mildly curious.

"Well, you used to be an arrogant, unemotional dick and now you're…tolerable. More than tolerable, you're…likable." Dean stated confidently.

"Thank you?" Castiel said, unsure if Dean had meant that to be a compliment.

"Don't you see? Sam's an arrogant, unemotional dick and it's one thing for _me_ to have to deal with that. It drives me crazy and I want to hit him in the head with a baseball bat, but I'm dealing with it. But when we're working a case, it's different. His attitude and behavior get in the way. If he's not distracted by some panty-droppin' hippie, then he's scaring the crap out of the only person that holds the hope of a lead."

"So, he's…you."

"Yes…no! I was never _that_ bad!" Dean defended and then frowned when Castiel gave him a look of disbelief.

"What is it that you need of me, Dean?" Castiel asked, urging the hunter to get to the point.

"I need you to help me teach Sam to be a _real boy_. I've tried. God _knows_ how I've tried." Dean released a deep, exaggerated sigh.

"But Sam…now that we know the score he's not even pretending to be normal any more; not that he was doing a good job to begin with; it's just…I'm at my wits end with him and…I thought…maybe you'd have better luck. You know, cuz you've kinda been there, done that."

"I bought the t-shirt as well," Castiel finished.

"See!" Dean laughed. "_That's_ why you can help Sam. A few years ago you wouldn't have even known what that meant and now you not only understand it, but you can joke about it. I meant it before when I said you were something like human."

"Dean, that's not exactly a compliment."

"It is…coming from a human. Please, Cas. You're the only person I know who has been anywhere close to being in the same shoes as Sam."

Cas looked mildly perplexed. He resisted the temptation to explain that he could recall no occasion on which he and Sam had come close to sharing footwear; it would have been impractical as Sam's feet were much bigger than Jimmy's. "What would you like me to do?"

* * *

Sam sat in a booth with his back against the window, warming in the mid-morning sun, a newspaper spread wide in his hands. His waitress, a pleasant woman in her early fifties, walked purposefully toward his table with a coffee carafe.

"Can I top you off, hun?"

"Sure." Without looking up from his paper, he slid his half empty cup across the table into her outstretched hand.

"How 'bout your friend? Would you like a cup?"

"No, thank you," came the unexpected gravelly response. With a polite nod, the waitress walked away.

Sam folded the paper at one corner to glance at the sudden appearance of the visitor. Castiel sat on the opposite side of the table, his appearance as wrinkled as ever, although looking a bit more tired than normal.

"Hello, Sam."

"Cas. I didn't hear you wing in." After a moment of waiting for Castiel to say something more, Sam added "Why are you here?"

"Your brother requested that I meet with you."

Sam rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh of irritation, laying his newspaper aside. Dean had sent Castiel to keep an eye on him, like a feathered babysitter. Great! Like he didn't walk around all day long beneath the scrutiny of Dean's watchful eye, now he had to put up with the angel telling him what he was doing wrong.

Sam leaned over the table, indicating that Castiel should do the same, like Sam was about to share some incredible secret. "You know, if I don't need Jiminy Cricket telling me how to be a _real boy_, then I certainly don't need an angel on the shoulder either."

"I don't understand this _real boy _thing. Is there some question regarding your gender? I wasn't aware that you had been resurrected as a female, although that might explain the difference in your hair."

"What's wrong with my hair?" Sam snapped defensively.

Castiel began to demonstrate, in crude hand gestures, the wind blowing his hair back at the nape of the neck, but Sam cut him off quickly.

"And I am a _man_. Not a boy, definitely not a girl. Do I need to prove it to both of you?" Sam grasped his belt buckle and began to undo it right there in the booth.

Castiel quickly raised his hands in surrender to placate Sam's defenses. "No," Castiel said firmly. "Your gender holds no interest for me. Please, do not expose yourself trying to prove your point; I believe you."

"Alright then." Sam sat back down but continued to glower at the angel. "So what do you want?"

"Dean thought I might be of assistance in helping you…cope…" Castiel paused to consider his words carefully. He didn't want a second round of masculine dominance to play out in the diner. "Help you cope with your…humanity."

Sam settled further back into the booth, choosing to listen to what Castiel had to say, as his approach was, so far, very different from Dean's.

"I understand what it is like to be forced to deal with humans. Before coming here and assuming my vessel, I had a very skewed view of humans. They were such flawed and inferior creatures, animals really; incapable of free thinking, undeserving of my devotion."

"And now?" Sam asked inquisitively.

"Now," Cas sighed. "Now, I find myself too often putting your needs first."

"What changed?"

"Dean. Dean is what changed me."

A knowing smirk crept across Sam's face and he nodded, saying, "Yea, I sort of figured you had a thing for him."

"What?" Cas shook his head vehemently and argued, "No. His friendship _changed_ me. My faith in him…_changed_ me. As flawed as he is, Dean is a righteous man who proved to me that you are all capable of free will; all deserving of your place in my Father's sight."

Sam quickly lost interest and pulled his discarded newspaper back toward him, but Cas reached a hand out, pressing the paper into the table and stopping its progress toward Sam.

"Sam, I think I can help you find a better way of dealing with people, including Dean. A way in which Dean will not be so critical of your every move and action."

Narrowing his eyes, Sam took a moment to consider the angel sitting across from him and then finally asked, "What did you have in mind?"

* * *

Castiel and Sam walked shoulder to shoulder down the sidewalk, looking like a brick wall of seriousness. When they came to a corner and had to wait for traffic, Sam cast a glance at the angel, who had pulled a small memo pad from within his trench coat and was flipping through the pages.

"What is that?" Sam asked suspiciously.

"I made a list." Castiel answered as if it was the most normal thing in the world for an angel to have written a check list of things to do.

"A list? Is that a joke?"

Stopped by Sam's incomprehension, Castiel looked up from his notebook to find a truly incredulous young man.

"It is not a joke. I have a limited amount of time and felt that it would worthwhile to be organized in this lesson."

The light turned, allowing Castiel to step off of the curb onto the street. Sam wasn't so quick to follow as he was distracted by the angel's statement.

"Lesson?" Sam huffed to himself, leveling a frown at Castiel's back before stepping away from the corner and jogging to catch up. "I didn't realize you were such a task master, Cas. Did you bring your ruler along to rap my knuckles when I do bad?" The comment was sarcastic and accusatory but if Castiel took offense, it didn't show, as he continued to move through town.

"I am not here to judge you, Sam. I am here, simply, because I have been, as your brother explained to me, in your shoes. It means that I…"

"I know what it means, Cas."

"Then you understand that I have a certain perspective on your situation that Dean is not able to comprehend. I made a list because I thought _you_, of all people, would appreciate the structured approach."

Sam nodded his approval and then stopped just short of running into Castiel when the angel came to an abrupt halt.

"We will take today to work in a hands-on method. Testing the waters, so to speak, to see where you people skills need improving. If we can improve your ability to work with the public, then you will find it much easier living and working with Dean. So, _there_ is your first task," Cas finished, pointing to the end of the block where an elderly woman stood waiting for the traffic light to give her clearance to cross.

"What? The old lady?"

"Yes. Go. Offer to help her cross the street. She has groceries. She needs your help. This is what you do, you and Dean. You help people. Go and help her."

"Oh…okay. I'll give it a try."

Sam squared his shoulders and marched down the rest of the block, appearing more dangerous than helpful in his approach. He stepped up directly next to the old gal who was dwarfed in his shadow but looked up at him with no apprehension what-so-ever.

"Ma'am," Sam greeted and then cleared his throat. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder where Castiel was making encouraging gestures with his hands. "Ma'am, do you need help crossing the street?"

"Oh. Aren't you a nice young man. Thank you…"

Sam reached out to take her grocery bag from her arms, but she turned ever so slightly away from his grasp.

"I thank you for the offer, but no, thank you. I will manage just fine. You have yourself a nice day, my dear." And she stepped carefully down from the curb. Sam frowned at her, tilting his head in disbelief and then quickly followed, stepping in front of her to block her path.

"_Really_," he urged. "It's no problem. Let me help you with your bag." Again he reached for the paper sack and again she pulled away.

"Dear, I said I was fine, so if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way." She tried to step around him, but found her way blocked again by the immovable Sam shaped wall.

"Look, lady. I'm just trying to do a good deed here. Let me carry your groceries… " Sam cocked his head at her and plastered on a smile which he intended to be sincere, but came off a little crazed. And then he bent down to pat her lightly on the shoulder and added, "and I'll escort you across the street like the sweet senior citizen you are."

If looks could kill, it would have taken all the angels in Heaven to resurrect Sam from Hell this time.

"_You_ look, you overgrown Boy Scout. This senior citizen doesn't need your help. I'm a third dan black belt and I will kick your ass into next week, so back off."

Sam scoffed at the tiny woman and was about to say something crude when Castiel bustled in to interrupt the quickly overheating situation.

"I apologize for my friend…"

"And who the Hell are you, his den mother? What is this, some kind of _gang _initiation? Are you going to jump me? Well, bring it on sourpuss, I've got a special surprise waiting for you too."

Sam turned to laugh at Castiel who's face was pale with shock over the woman's aggressive nature.

"I think there has been a misunderstanding. Sam did not mean to upset you. He has recently returned from Hell and must now learn to function without his soul, so…"

The woman did not let him go any further. She reached into her purse and pulled out a small silver device, flipped a switch and with no further warning than, "Get away from me, you freaks!" pressed a pocket taser into Castiel's chest and blasted 50,000 volts of electricity through his vessel, dropping him to his knees. Sam stood watching in awe as the old gal hitched her grocery bag up on her hip and walked briskly across the intersection and down the block away from them without another word. He then turned, laughing at Castiel, who was still kneeling on the pavement stunned.

"Why are you laughing? Is this funny?"

"Well, yea. Kind of. I didn't realize that a little pocket taser could take out an angel of the Lord. That bit sure would have come in handy last year."

Castiel glared angrily, grinding his teeth as he willed himself to reign in the outburst begging to spring forth. Instead he threw a hand at Sam, "Help me up," he growled.

* * *

"Sam, you are making this too difficult," Castiel grumbled in frustration. Together, he and Sam walked up the embankment of the river and onto the bike path, disappearing down the wooded trail just as two police cars came screaming over the bridge.

Fuming and looking like a drowned cat, Sam wiped mud and excess water from his hair and clothing.

"Hey, I tried. I could have let that moron drown after he pulled me over the rail with..."

"He pulled you over," Castiel interrupted, "because you were dangling the hysterical man over the water by the front of his coat. He thought you were going to kill him."

"I _was_ going to kill him. If you're standing on a bridge, thinking about jumping because your slut of a wife cheated with your dick of boss, don't _think_…do us all a favor and jump."

"I believe your response should have been to console the man; to talk him down from the ledge. I am not judging," Castiel added quickly when Sam turned to give him a reproachful look.

"Are we done with this little _experiment_?"

Castiel pulled the notebook from his inner pocket and shaking his head in defeat, scanned down the list where all of the items were crossed out.

"I am afraid that I have nothing further on my list."

"Thank _God_." Sam rolled his eyes toward the sky.

"I have failed you, Sam."

"You didn't fail me, Cas, cuz really…I don't care. If anything, you failed Dean."

They came to the edge of the tree line and were both relieved to see the motel directly across the street. Wasting no time, Sam stepped off of the trail and crossed the busy street without looking to see if Castiel was following. The angel stood for a moment, considering Sam's last statement concerning Dean and decided that his friend was a forgiving person and would look past this disappointment. This conclusion, however, did not stop Castiel from shoving his hands deep into his pockets and dropping his head in shame as he approached the motel looking like the angel who had kicked the puppy.

Dean was leaning deep over the engine of his Impala when Sam strode by leaving a trail of dried river mud behind him. Dean felt the breeze of movement as his brother rushed past and looked up doing a double take at the sight of his bedraggled brother silently entering their room and shutting the door loudly behind him. Standing, Dean pulled a rag from his pocket, wiped his hands clean, then came around the side of the car and waited for Castiel to walk the remainder of the way across the gravel lot.

"Didn't go well?" It wasn't really so much a question as it was a declaration of defeat, but he managed to give Castiel a genuine smile anyway. When the angel cast his eyes toward the ground, Dean was quick to console him, "Cas, look…I really wasn't expecting miracles. I just kind of hoped that Sam would listen to you more than he does me. I'm sure he's as tired of all my ball busting as I am of dishing it out."

"He did…_bitch_ about you a lot today," Castiel replied. Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise at Castiel's remarkably accurate use of the curse word.

"So, how _did_ it go?"

"Not well at all." Castiel paused to decide what was appropriate to tell Dean, finally shaking his head sadly and continuing with, "Did you know that he has developed a rather large sexual appetite?"

Dean lowered his head to hide his amusement, but soon his whole body was shaking in silent laughter.

"How sad is it that Mr. Modesty is now getting laid five times as often as I ever did…maybe more," Dean added with a slight look of horror.

"Sam did say that you were angry about…"

"I'm not angry," Dean interrupted, defensively.

"That is something I have never understood," Castiel continued as if he'd not heard Dean. "I do not understand you humans' fascination with sexual intercourse."

"Have you tried it yet, Cas?"

"No," Castiel answered a little too forcefully, fearfully remembering the time in which Dean had taken him to a brothel to lose his angel virginity.

"Then don't knock it."

Wishing he'd never brought it up, Castiel was quick to change the subject.

"There is some concern with Sam's honesty."

"Yea, he hasn't been real straightforward with me in a while. Even when he's telling the truth, he's not really telling the truth."

"Actually, what I meant to say is that he is being far too honest with people. He made three separate women cry today."

"Oh," Dean said, cringing a little.

"And two men," Castiel deadpanned as if it was the most normal thing.

"That _is_ a problem."

Their conversation was put on hold when the front door of the motel room opened and a freshly showered Sam stepped out in a clean pair of jeans and t-shirt and leaned against the Impala next to his brother.

"So, Dean…did Cas tell you about his new _girlfriend_?"

Dean turned shocked eyes on Castiel only to find the angel shaking his head vigorously and absentmindedly rubbing at his chest.

"She is not my girlfriend," Cas corrected. He turned to Dean and explained, "I have always considered you and your brother extraordinary examples of the human race; choosing to put your lives on the line to battle to forces of Heaven and Hell. But _today_ has been eye opening. Today I encountered my first ninety year old black belt with a pocket taser. She was _not _a pleasant woman."

Sam smiled and laughed mercilessly at Castiel's discomfort and Dean was quick to join him.

"Taken out by Ninja Nanna!," Dean laughed, "Ah well, you're only an angel, Cas."


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: I've got this and one more to post before Friday's episode. And I'm sobbing, because I have to miss the show on Friday. So everyone keep me in your thoughts while you're watching. **

**Disclaimer: Sadly I was told I needed to release Sam, Dean & Castiel from my closet. So they're on their way back to Bobby's if anyone out there wants to nab them for me. I have a small reward for their safe return.**

It was just after seven in the morning and the motel room was cool and dark because the heavy drapes had been pulled before Dean had lain down to sleep. He was sprawled out across the covers, like he'd fallen straight into bed and hadn't moved in four hours; lying completely exposed to the chilly room except for the one hand tucked protectively under his pillow.

The door slammed open, flooding Dean's peaceful face in bright morning light and he was jarred from his sleep, thrashing momentarily as his body caught up with the orders his mind was shouting. Dean pulled the bowie knife free of the pillows with a jerk; turning to meet the danger head on and lost his balance, tumbling off the bed in a tangle of comforter.

"Ow, crap!"

"Oh, you're awake. Great. Come on, Dean. Get dressed. You _gotta_ see this!" Sam rushed through the room, making a beeline for the bathroom and pulled a towel from the pile of previously discarded towels.

"Sam?" He'd gone by in such a blur of motion that Dean wasn't sure he'd actually seen his brother, but the voice sounded like him.

"Yea? Dean, why are you still sitting there? Come on. Get up. Let's go." Sam bustled around the bed and in one strong movement had grabbed Dean by the arm and pulled him up and free of the bedding. Then he was immediately moving again, this time into the kitchenette, pulling cupboard doors open and searching the contents. "Do we have Pam?

"Pam?"

"Yea, like the cooking spray?" Sam opened the fridge and leaned in to examine to contents there as well.

"What are you _talking_ about?"

"Maybe butter would work," he said aloud to himself, pulling a small tub from the top shelf.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, stop right there, Skippy." Sam came to an abrupt halt and turned to give his brother a questioning look. "Tell me what's going on?" Dean asked.

"I'll show you." In motion again, Sam crossed to the large picture window and ripped the curtains open. Beyond the glass was a vast, blinding whiteness. Snow, everywhere. Wet, packing snow, layered several inches thick covered every visible surface. Dean only slightly recognized his beloved Impala's shape beneath the blanket.

"When did that happen? It's only mid-November."

"It's awesome, right?"

Dean was shaken from his snow induced trance by the level of excitement in Sam's voice. _Wrong. This is wrong._ But somehow, Dean wasn't able to put his finger on what was so _off_.

"And it's still coming down," Sam continued. "So, hurry up and get dressed, cuz I've got something more to show you." Sam snatched up the duffle and tossed it at Dean.

"Yea, alright. Untwist your little girl panties, Samantha."

Dean sat down on the edge of his bed and unzipped the duffle. He pulled an over shirt out and slipped it on and then a pair of jeans.

"Toss me my boots, will ya?"

Sam quickly grabbed them up and presented them together in outstretched hands, smiling like a child holding a much awaited gift. Dean looked up and was again thrown by how _off_ the situation felt.

"What's going on with you this morning?" he asked suspiciously.

"Whadya mean?"

Dean shook the strange feeling from his head. "Nothing. Nevermind, I guess." He slipped the boots on and leaned over to lace them up and then stood up, smoothed his shirt down over his chest and grabbed up his coat. "Alright, I'm ready. Show me what's so damned important that you had to knock me out of bed at seven in the morning."

Sam bounced on the spot and turned quickly to the door, pulling it open and reaching beyond the entry. He returned with two panels of metal measuring three by four feet. At one end Sam had rounded the metal off into a graceful curve.

"What the _Hell_ are those?"

"Our new sleds," Sam answered with a knowing and happy head nod. He took the towel and began to polish off the underside of each; considered the butter and then decided against, throwing it back into the room on the table.

"Sleds? Looks like sheet metal to me." Dean closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. He was afraid to ask, but knew there was no point in avoiding the inevitable. "What exactly are we doing with our _new sleds_?"

"Come see." Sam gathered up the two make-shift sleds and jogged down the snow covered walk. Dean pulled the door closed and had to run to catch up with his brother who had already sped around the corner of the building.

Rising up behind the motel, an enormous hill was bathed in the morning sun, shining like a beacon, calling out to all children in the neighborhood, plus one Sasquatch. At such an early hour, it was strange to see half a dozen kids already taking to the steep slope.

"Are you serious? I'm thir…twenty-nine years old. I'm not a kid anymore and neither are you."

"Since when has that ever stopped us? Come on, Dean. Forget age. Forget the job. We can't go anywhere right now anyway. Not until they clear the roads. Let's take one hour and just…_be_ brothers."

"Sam…"

"Unless you're…chicken."

Dean face solidified in a determined glare. Never one to back down from a challenge, Dean reached out and snatched one of the sleds from Sam's hand.

"Let's go, Bitch."

He gave Sam a good shove as he stalked toward the hill. Sam trotted by him, taking the hill in large, weighted stomps through the wet snow.

When they reached the top, they stood together panting, staring down the steep decline. A moment of vertigo swept over Dean as he realized how high up he was and he bounced on his knees to feel the firm earth hidden by snow beneath this feet.

"Ready?" Sam eyes sparkled with excitement, his face split with a smile that Dean hadn't seen in longer than he could remember. And again Dean was set back by the feeling of wrongness, but before he had a chance to register it, Sam had dropped onto his sled and pushed off; hands fisted in the air, hair flying wildly behind him as he roared down the slope. Dean couldn't help but bend over in laughter.

Dean set his sled at the edge of the crest and straddled it before settling down in the center. He took a second glance over the edge and hesitated once again about the height.

"What are you waiting for?" Sam called from the bottom of the hill. "It's awesome!"

"Yea, yea," Dean said quietly to himself. He pulled his feet on board and used his hands to push off. The sheet metal contraption rocked a time or two before finally deciding to work with gravity and then it rocketed downward, building up speed the farther it went.

It was beyond anything Dean had felt in years; pure, unadulterated joy combined with a heady spray of snow. The faster he went, the faster he urged the sled to go. He whooped and laughed until he thought he would cry and then he went screaming passed Sam who stood grinning at the bottom watching Dean's ride. Dean turned to flip him the bird just because he felt like it, but when he turned back around he realized that he probably should have been paying more attention to his uncontrollable path.

"Crap," was all that Dean had time to mutter before connecting solidly with the back wall of the motel.

"Dean!" Sam was running well before the collision, but there was no way that he'd have been able to stop the inevitable. He fell to his knees beside the wreck of a sled and his equally wrecked brother.

Dean's eyes were closed and there was a large scrape on his forehead where he'd either connected with the wall or the sled, but he was groaning, so that at least was a sign. He could feel Sam's warm hands on his head, in his hair, checking for other injuries, but he was unable to voice his displeasure at his little brother 'feeling him up'.

Dean let himself relax into Sam's reliable hands and then, there it was again...that same nagging feeling he'd had since waking up; the feeling of something off. Dean tried to focus on Sam's voice; to pull himself out of the fog he was in. If he could focus, then maybe he could nail down what was so wrong with today.

"You idiot," Sam laughed.

Sam laughed…but no, he didn't. He didn't laugh at all.

"Dean, wake up."

There was no sense of urgency in Sam's voice, just the cool calm that had been creeping Dean out for weeks. No inflection in his voice, no meaning behind his tone…just coldness. Dean opened his eyes and suddenly found himself lying on a concrete floor, looking up into the rafters of a dark warehouse. Sam leaned into his line of vision and the sight startled Dean. He immediately knew why he'd felt so wrong all day.

"What happened?" Dean's voice gravelly like he'd just woken up.

"That vamp cracked you in the head. S'alright, I took care of the son of a bitch. Get up, there's two more we gotta go after."

Sam didn't wait for Dean to come around fully. He took off through the warehouse in search of the other vampires and left Dean lying in the middle of the floor.

Dean rolled over and found the machete he'd been using in the hunt; pulled himself to his knees and paused to rub at the knot at the back of his head. All the moments of a snowy day rolled through his mind; a day that didn't exist and Dean was left with a deep sense of longing. He sucked a breath in through clenched teeth and shuddered upon releasing it.

"Some days it doesn't pay to get out of bed," he told himself sadly before climbing to his feet to follow Sam.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: So there's good news and bad news. Good news is I've got another chapter for you. The bad news is that I wanted to post it before 6.10 tonight and failed miserably. This is what happens when real life butts its big ass in. Damn you, Real World! Can't you see that I'm happier here? Ugh!**

**Disclaimer: I think I had a dream about owning them last night...but it might have been a daydream today and neither really counts, so...sigh.**

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Moderator Notes: You can if you want to.

"Well, _this_ was a brilliant idea," Sam growled quietly. "Let's play hide and seek with the Wendigo. Whoever heard of a Wendigo in the grasslands, anyway?"

"Shh! Did you hear that?" Dean's whispers were harsh and demanding and Sam stilled for a moment but was unable to hear what had set his brother on edge.

"I don't hear anything," Sam answered a little too loudly.

"Shh, shh, shh!" Dean raised a hand to silence the younger brother and turned his eyes, unseeing into the dark, searching for whatever he had heard.

Shadowed by the moonless night, the two brothers were startled into stillness when there was a low, grunt about twenty feet to the west of where they were standing; much too close for either of their comforts. This time it was Sam who called for quiet.

"What the Hell _is_ that? That's _not_ a Wendigo."

Holding his make-shift blowtorch as a defense against the darkness, Dean strained to hear the sound; a deep, guttural grunt, near to the ground, like the sound of air being forced across large barrel-chested lungs. The hair rose on the back of his neck and a shiver of danger ran down the length of his spine as the pig-like grunt echoed again, this time much closer to their position.

"Back away…very slowly."

Again, the beast grunted and as realization set in, Dean was suddenly inspired to put distance between the creature and Sam and himself. "Move, move, move," Dean stammered quickly.

"What is…?" Sam was cut off by a thunderous bellow that was issued from behind the curtain of grasses and was accompanied by a ground shaking rumble.

"Run!" Dean dropped the incendiary canister and grabbed his brother by the arm of his jacket, pulling him at a full sprint through the tall meadow. "Run, run, run!"

The pair tore through the grass, dodging small saplings and zig zagging as they tried to outrun the monster roaring after them.

"What the Hell _is_ it?" Sam hollered over the whistle of wind in their ears.

"Tatonka! Tatonka!"

"Buffalo?"

"Sam, shut up and run _faster!_"

Dean and Sam peeled away in opposite directions as eighteen hundred pounds of ticked off Bison charged its way in between the two hunters, catching the tail of Dean's jacket on one of its horns, tearing the seam as he spun away. The two men circled around and slammed back into each other, while the full grown bull bounced several times, coming to a halt, then spun to rediscover his quarry behind him.

"Crap, crap, crap!" Dean hollered, checking himself over quickly and finding a large tear in his coat.

"You get tagged?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Then quit screaming like a girl and run." Sam put a hand in Dean's back and gave him a good hard shove before bolting away from the angry beast that had regained his bearings and was again charging at them.

"We can't outrun this bitch, we gotta split up. We're sitting ducks together," Sam yelled over his shoulder. "You go right, I'll go left."

"What if it's right handed? _You_ go right! You're faster," Dean reasoned, pouring on the speed to catch up with Sam.

"There!" Sam pointed off to their left where the horizon was darkened with a stand of trees that framed the narrow river they had seen coming in."Head for the trees. They can't climb, right?"

"I don't know! You want me to stop and ask?"

"Yea, you do that…Idiot," Sam growled, throwing himself up into the first tree he came to, climbing up and out of the reach of the rampaging bull just as it collided solidly with the trunk; thrashing and raking his six inch horns against the bark and lower branches and grunting aggressively.

"Sam!" Although occupied with scrambling into a tree of his own, Dean wasn't able to ignore the sound of the horrific collision and he immediately feared the worst.

Unfortunately his worried cry caught the interest of the buffalo and now the bull turned his complete attention on Dean who wasn't far enough out of his reach. With a quick flick of its massive head, Dean was ripped from the lower branches of the tree and sent aloft, crashing through the branches of an adjacent tree and landing awkwardly on his left side, facing upwards.

Adrenaline and years of experience with life and death situations forced Dean to roll through the bad landing and right himself on two feet and not a moment too soon. Tucking his left arm into his side, Dean found himself face to face with his attacker.

A stare off commenced between the two and despite the pain radiating from his shoulder and ribcage, Dean was not about to give up the game if it meant the animal would continue to stand its ground, guarding him warily. The buffalo pawed and stomped at the Earth, kicking up a spray of dirt and dust. It snorted that same dust out of its nasal passages while wide set eyes tracked Dean's smallest movements as well as those of Sam in the neighboring tree.

"Don't move, Dean."

The advice was neither wanted nor appreciated and Dean cast a dark sideways glance in Sam's direction.

"I don't have a straight shot," Sam whispered. "If I can get down, I can get a better shot."

"_No_!" Dean hissed. "Don't you move, just take the shot you have."

Taking away any line of sight that Sam had, the animal side stepped, turning slightly so that it could better see both men, snorting a warning at them.

"Sam, take the shot."

And still Sam hesitated, "Trust me?" he asked, adjusting his position, lowering his stance among the branches.

"Is this a test? I'll trust you if you save my ass and _take the freakin' shot_."

Hopping in agitation, the bull spun completely around and prepared to take another run at Dean. Unprotected, injured and unable to pull himself into the safety of a tree, Dean stood his ground, broadening his stance in hopes that it would make him appear larger than he was.

"Sam?" Dean's voice rising in his own heightened state of agitation was all the further prodding the buffalo needed. It lowered its head once again and bellowed in rage. "Shoot that son of a bitch!"

Three shots rang out consecutively, echoing through the trees and across the flat grassland and the large beast slid to a stop on folded front legs just feet away from where Dean was standing, shaking in pain and if truth be told, fear. A final groan escaped the animal as its head rolled to the side.

Sam jumped down from the tree and approached his kill.

"Look at this monster," he said proudly. "Dean, this guy would have torn you in half. What? No, _thank you_? I just saved your life, you know." He turned a smiling face towards his brother only to find Dean crumpled against the trunk of a tree. "Hey, did you faint?"

"I think I'm in trouble," Dean said weakly and pulled his right hand away from where he'd been cradling his shoulder. Even in the dark, he could see that his hand was coated in a fair amount of blood.

"Whatcha got?" Sam knelt down and pulled Dean forward to a have a look.

"Ahh, fuh...Sam, stop," Dean panted, his head falling against Sam's chest.

"If you want me to assess the situation, I've gotta see what's going on back here. Don't be such a baby, grit your teeth and bear it."

Taking a slow breath, his lungs seizing against the pain burning outward down his back and arm, Dean nodded his approval. Sam tugged on the right sleeve of Dean's jacket and slipped it down his arm, exposing his back.

"Oh, nice." Sam's appraisal was spoken in his now customary deadpan tone and Dean was unable to decipher the meaning behind the words. Sam tore the fabric of Dean's shirts, baring the hunter to the cool night air. Dean sat silently grimacing while Sam probed at his back.

"Well the obvious is a dislocated shoulder..._again_. Also there's a good sized puncture wound right over the scapula, feels like whatever penetrated, bounced off the bone and tore through a bit of the muscle. It's not too bad, but you're gonna need stitches and won't have a lot of use of that arm for a while. I don't feel anything outta place, but if I had to guess, I'd say you have some bruised ribs too."

"So what's the bad news, Nurse Chapel?"

"The bad news is all the meds are back at the car and it's half a mile away. So how do you want to handle this? You gonna walk?"

"Yea, help me up."

Sam stood and reached down, securing a strong grip beneath Dean's right elbow and pulled him to his feet. Dean grasped a hold of Sam's arm, using the younger man to steady himself and took a step forward only to seize in pain.

"_Mother of God_," he ground through clenched teeth. "Are you _sure_ I didn't break a rib? _Feels_ like I broke a rib."

"Dean, it's pitch black out here, I can't tell what color your eyes are, let alone see if you have any broken ribs. I said I didn't _feel _anything broken. Can you walk or not?"

Dean stepped forward again and again he bit back the cry of pain, then looked at his brother and shook his head. "It hurts me to admit this, but _everything_ hurts."

"I guess I can bring the car to you," Sam shrugged.

"Are you high? You're not driving my car out into this. Hell, you're not driving my car period."

"I've driven your car before, Dean."

"Yea, when you had a soul. I wouldn't trust your judgment without your soul. What if you decided to take off on me and speed away in my baby?"

"I wouldn't do that."

"O…kay, whatever you say." Energized and determined not to let Sam anywhere near his car, Dean pushed off and stumbled a few steps before falling back to his knees, the motion jarring his entire body and this time Dean wasn't able to hold back the cry.

Sam reached down and pulled Dean up again.

"You leave me no choice," was all the warning Dean got. With a firm grip on Dean's arm, Sam closed his fist and popped Dean in the jaw, effectively tagging the reset button. Dean sagged against the younger hunter and in one swift motion; Sam scooped him up over his shoulder and headed off in the direction of the Impala.

* * *

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty, wake up."

Sam tapped his brother lightly in the face. Dean groaned, flinched at the touch and pried open his eyes. What he could see of the room was spinning, so he quickly closed his eyes again.

"Why's everything upside down?" he asked groggily.

"Upside down?" Sam looked down on Dean where he was laying on his stomach across the motel room bed, his head hanging loosely over the side. "Oh, here." Sam pulled Dean up into a sitting position on the bed and kept a hand on his good shoulder to keep Dean from toppling over.

"I had to give you the good stuff, quite a bit of it actually. Reset your shoulder and checked your ribs; nothing broken, just badly bruised. And the puncture wound wasn't as bad as it felt like yesterday."

When Dean raised a drowsy, confused face, Sam was quick to clarify, "You've been asleep for about twelve hours. Anyway, no real damage to your shoulder blade and muscle damage was minimal. A few stitches and you'll have to keep it wrapped tightly, but I don't think you're gonna have any problems with it."

"You alright?" Sam asked slowly. Dean's eyes were foggy and he stared slack jawed at his younger brother, but when Sam spoke, Dean focused on Sam's face. He blinked slowly a few times and then Dean's eyes and mouth pulled up into a slight smile. He reached his good hand up and clumsily smacked at Sam.

"Hiya, Sammy. Where ya been?"

"So that's how this is gonna be? Great." Sam sat back away from Dean and blew a long, slow breath through pursed lips, running his options through his head and came to a decision. He leaned back in and put a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Hey bud," he smiled warmly. "How's your arm feelin'? Can you move it around for me?"

Dean shrugged nonchalantly and raised his right arm, twisting his hand up and then down. He gave Sam an impressed nod at the good work his little brother had done patching him up.

"Your _other_ arm," Sam chuckled, shaking his head when he saw realization dawn on Dean's face. Dean attempted to lift his arm but failed miserably.

"Doesn't work," Dean pouted. "Why doesn't my arm work, Sammy?"

"Tatonka," Sam answered simply.

"Ohhhh. Yea," Dean sniggered. "They're _awesome_. We fought one once. Do you remember?"

"Yea, that was last night." The light inflection in Sam's tone was one that souled Sam would have used when talking with a child and it seemed appropriate for Dean's current situation.

"Yea? Did we win?"

"Um, not so much. You were gored by a buffalo." At the downturn of Dean's mouth, Sam was quick to add, "The good news is now you have a story to tell the kids and grandkids."

Dean's smile returned. "What kids?" Dean laughed. "Ben's not mine. Lisa said so."

"Yea, right," Sam muttered under his breath. "Dean, trust me…I'm sure you've got kids out there somewhere."

"Really?" Dean asked hopefully. "You _really_ think so?"

"Sure, Dean, absolutely." Sam patted his brother on the shoulder again. "You should probably try and get some more sleep."

Sam helped his brother lay back into the bed, taking the pillows off of the second bed and tucking them under Dean's arm and back to keep him from lying on the wound.

"I'll wake you up in a few hours; check your wrap."

As Sam was standing up from the bed, Dean reached out and grabbed his arm. "Thanks, Sammy. I can always count on you," Dean said sleepily. He rolled on to his right side and snuggled down into the bed, falling asleep almost immediately. Sam paused to watch him for a moment, shrugged his indifference and turned toward the door.

* * *

When Dean woke, the room was dark; a sliver of light cascaded across the bed from the street light outside. He slowly pulled himself upright and reached a stiff arm out and flicked the light switch next to the bed and grimaced in the lamps brightness. He rolled his left arm and twinged painfully as the bruises and wound pulled.

Dean looked around the room and found a bottle of Tylenol 3 and the medkit open on the bedside table, used bandages discarded in the wastebasket, but no Sam. He gathered his feet beneath him and stood up and then shuffled his way into the bathroom.

After relieving himself, Dean stood in front of the mirror, leaning his weight against the sink for support. He turned his back to the mirror and began to unwind the wrappings, followed by the bandage beneath. Dean grimaced at the raw wound beneath, but leaning into the mirror, examined it closer. Under a thin coating of antibiotic, Dean could see healthy pink skin puckered together by small, neat stitches that were clearly Sam's.

Dean was confused and for the first time in almost twenty-four hours, his confusion wasn't due to the good stuff. It was obvious to him that Sam had taken great care in treating Dean. Like clockwork, he'd come back to the room, woken the injured hunter and checked the wounds. What Dean couldn't understand was why?

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Winchester. You'd probably be dead right now if it wasn't for him." Dean raked his hand over his face, scratching lightly at the longer than usually beard growth.

"Talking to yourself again?..._Still_?" Sam was standing in the doorway, smiling. He pushed away from the door frame, stepping further into the room and pointed at Dean's back. "You want me to re-wrap that for you?"

"Yea, would you?"

Sam nodded and left the room to get the kit, Dean trailing slowly behind him. He sat down on the edge of the bed and Sam made quick work of the bandaging, all the while Dean sat quietly thinking about the events of the last day and Sam's behavior.

"I'm gonna go out and grab supper. You want me to bring something back for you?"

"Who the Hell _are_ you and what did you do with…that other guy?"

"Whatever, Jerk. You want food or not?" Sam rolled his eyes, opened the door and walked out without waiting for an answer.

"Yea, I want food!" Dean hollered after him. "Bring me back a buffalo burger, Bitch!"

Dean found his duffle bag sitting open on the table. He sat himself down gingerly and pulled it free, opening to the most recent entry.

"You can if you want to," he said aloud.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Author's Note: I am very proud of this chapter and I just hope and pray that I got it loaded for most everyone to read before watching the episode tonight (6.11) as it occurs between 6.10 and 6.11. Lots of angst in this one folks and just a little bit of humor. I hope you all enjoy. Also, a HUGE thank you to my lovely beta, Zara Zee for cranking through this chapter and making sure I did it right. She's been ill all week guys and still she's such a trooper! _**

**_Disclaimer: You decide._**

_But I think I'm better off without it._

_You're wrong. You don't know how wrong you are._

_I'm not so sure about that._

_Sam ...Don't walk away. Sam._

"Sam." Breathless, Dean woke with a jolt of alarm. He sat up and anxiously looked around the room; his heart sinking when he realized, once again, that Sam was nowhere to be found.

Dean had returned to their room and waited for the younger man to return after their disagreement. That had been two days ago and Dean had long since flown into panic mode. He'd called all his contacts, even venturing to make a call to Gwen at the risk of having to deal with Samuel; that son of a bitch would get his, just…not now. Right now, finding Sam was priority one, but no one had been able to give Dean any leads on Sam's whereabouts.

Dean had contacted the phone company to activate the GPS finder, but Sam's skills at avoidance had improved and even though the cell phone was still receiving messages, the company had been unable to locate it. Dean had exhausted all his normal methods of hunting the man down and the few methods that were beyond normal had also turned up nothing.

So he sat…waiting in a dark motel room, hoping beyond hope that an answer would float down from Heaven, but even that was wishful thinking.

Two days. Forty-eight hours, give or take. It wasn't that long, but it was above anything that Dean's nervous system could handle at the moment. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally. And alone. More alone than he'd ever felt, more unsure of his situation than he could ever imagine or remember being.

Dean needed direction and focus. He needed reassurance. He needed his brother and all of the above was so far beyond his reach that he melted back into the mattress, closing his eyes, and once again replaying their disagreement over in his head.

_No, I'm saying something you don't like._

Dean's cell phone vibrated against his chest where it was currently lying. Swiftly he grabbed it up, sparing just a moment to check the caller id before answering it.

"Hey, Bobby," Dean answered solemnly.

"Hey, Kid. No word from your brother, huh?"

Dean didn't even bother to answer the question. It was ridiculous on two parts. First, Bobby would have been the first to know if Dean had heard anything. Second, Sam, this Sam, was not his brother. Although having thought that, Dean now regretted it. For as much as he was adamant that his 'brother' was still in Hell, the void left by this Sam's disappearance weighed on Dean like a stone. A two ton stone with jagged edges.

"Dean…you still with me?" came the hesitant voice on the other end of the line.

"What? Yea, sorry Bobby. I'm just…" Dean trailed off, unable to put a voice to his emotions.

"I know, Kid. I know. Hey listen. The reason I called is I got something I need you to look in to."

"Bobby," Dean started to argue.

"Look, I know you. It's driving you crazy sitting around there waiting, wondering. You need to be working."

"I am. I'm researching. Gotta find another way of getting his soul back, now that Crowley's…poof"

"Dean…"

"Bobby," Dean's warning was weak. Even as he spoke, his argument was deflating. "Don't try and talk me out of this. Please. You're the only one I have left on my side."

Bobby found the weakness in Dean's voice shocking and it took him a moment to affirm his decision to give Dean work when all he really wanted to do was comfort his oldest boy.

"I am on your side, Dean. And right now, I'm looking out for your best interests, even if you won't. I have a job for you. It'll get you out and get your mind off Sam for a while."

When he didn't get a response from the younger hunter, Bobby was afraid that he'd lost him.

"I need your help on this one, Kiddo," Bobby said softly.

He heard Dean snort quietly on the other end, probably in response to Bobby's new choice of nicknames, but Bobby thought, 'What the Hell. The kid needs family right now.'

"Dean, it's right near where you're at and it'll only take you a moment to suss it out and take care of the problem. Can I count on you to look into it for me?"

"Yea, Bobby. Of course. Whadya got?"

* * *

52 hours earlier…

"Sam. Don't walk away…Sam."

Dean quickly leaned in through the car window and pulled his journal free from where he'd crammed it into the crease of the bench seat, then backed out and trotted around the front of the car.

"Wait up for just a second."

Sam's shoulders tensed, trying to decide whether to put more distance between them or to stop and give Dean a chance to again force feed his point down Sam's throat. But that moment's hesitation was all the time that Dean needed and he pulled up alongside the younger man.

"Look, you want time, I get it. Take time, but take this with you, okay? I think it's time you read it." Dean pressed the leather journal against Sam's chest, holding it there when the younger man wouldn't accept it.

"It's not going to change my mind, Dean," Sam shook his head.

"I'm not expecting it to. I'm not changing my mind either, you know. But if you're gonna go off without me to make some decision…"

"My decision's already been made. It's just you that's having a hard time accepting it."

"Sam, dammit. At least take a moment to really think about this. We're talking about your soul." Dean paused to pull a ragged breath into his lungs, willing his heart to stop hammering the inside of his ribcage. "You're suggesting that we leave your soul in Hell with Lucifer and Michael. I can't…" Dean's throat constricted around the thought, "I can't do that. That's my baby brother in there. I can't just _leave_ him like that."

Unmoved by Dean's open display of emotion, Sam shook his head in disapproval. "No. _You_ need to understand that _I_ am your brother. Maybe I'm not all watery eyed and soft hearted like I was, but I'm still me. So you need to either accept that or…"

"Or what?" Dean interrupted, horrified by the turn of the conversation.

"Or move on. I'm not gonna give up everything that I have and cross my fingers that my soul's fixable just to appease you. You're asking too much. I'm fine with how I am. I'm _better_…how I am. Just…get over it already."

Sam turned to walk away again, but Dean caught him by the arm. Without looking up at Sam, Dean shoved the journal further into his chest.

"Just take it with you. Maybe it won't change your mind, but it's still useful."

"Whatever." Sam accepted the journal and tucked it into his coat and then briskly walked away, leaving Dean behind, shattered.

* * *

Sam hadn't gotten far. He'd hitched a ride up Interstate 44 into Fort Leonard Wood and found a commercial hotel just outside of the airport there, leveraging convenience for a fast getaway if it became necessary. Military base plus airplanes, two things Dean would never consider as a hideout, not that Sam was hiding out. He laughed for a moment for having considered staying at a little place on Winchester Road. No, that would be too obvious…and corny. It would have been a place that Dean would have chosen.

"Shut up," Sam instructed his inner monolog. "No use thinking about him. The jerk wants to cram an eviscerated soul into your body and expect that it's all going to end hunky dory. He really ought to remember that it never ends well for us and leave it alone."

Shucking out of his coat, Sam sank into the bed, pulling his back up against the headboard and began flipping through the loose leaf papers he'd copied at the library. Having left everything behind in the Impala, Sam had resorted to primitive methods of research. His cell phone was out of the question. Sam was sure that Dean had already attempted to find him using GPS and although he most likely hadn't figured out how to track Sam by his internet searches, Sam wasn't willing to give him the opportunity. He also avoided the library computers as he was sure the Army and other government agencies kept close tabs on who did what on their machinery.

But all this security meant that his research results were slim. It's not like public libraries had access to the volume and quality of material available in Bobby's library, but Sam would just have to make do with what he had. He spread the papers out over the bed, sorting through the viable and nonviable.

All soul related information was theoretic or theology and although it gave him lots of ideas, it did nothing to direct his actions. He'd gathered a bit of Greek and Roman mythology but had already passed those items into the nonviable pile, knowing from experience that there was no River Styx, so there was no use hunting down the boatman for information.

Sam had considered reapers as a good source, but the only thing he'd come up with in the library was a copy of Showtime's, Dead Like Me. He smiled briefly remembering an unusually quiet weekend a few years back when he and Dean had marathoned the show, laughing at George and her reaper escapades. Dean of course found an immediate kinship with Mason and vowed to be just like him when he 'grew up'…minus the hole in the head. Sam shook the memory from his head and delved back into the pile of papers.

Dean had been pulled from Hell by an angel, although Castiel had openly admitted that it had taken a war party to make it in and out. The reference section on angels and Heaven was lacking and sadly incorrect. Sam crumpled up page after page, tossing them haphazardly at the foot of the bed.

"Well, that was a waste of time," Sam said, catching sight of the time on the alarm clock; six, twenty-two pm. He stretched his back, rocking his head side to side and groaned slightly at the tense pull between his shoulders. Rocking forward onto his knees, Sam reached into his coat lying at the end of the bed for his wallet. Since his research had yielded nothing, he may as well go scrounge up some supper, but rather than his wallet, his hand found the leather journal he had stuffed into the inside pocket.

Slowly he pulled it free of the coat, turning it over in his hands, studying it with a look of distaste.

"I don't need this crap," he said dropping it unceremoniously on the bed. Sam snatched up his coat and left the hotel room in search of a meal.

* * *

"A carnival, Sam. I can't believe you're missing the clowns," Dean said grinning to himself. The smile quickly faded when he remembered why Sam wasn't here.

"S'alright, there's not many clowns here anyway. It's too cold. Who's ever heard of a carnival in November? And this case is a bust. Nothing, not even a pesky vengeful spirit…" Out of the corner of his eye, Dean caught one of the carnie workers give him an odd look before sadly shaking his head and walking in the other direction. "And, I'm gonna quit talking to myself now."

Dean zipped his jacket up underneath his chin, then stuffed his hands down deep into his jeans pockets and made his way back towards the entrance of the carnival. Once he was in the warmth of the car, he'd give Bobby a call and let him know the bad news.

Just as he was leaving, though, a light flashed on his left catching his attention. He pulled up short, looked and then under no control of his own, his body turned to follow the lead of his eyes which had zeroed in on an animatronic machine sitting in a corner between two vendor stalls.

"You've got to be kidding me, Zoltar Speaks," Dean whispered like an eager ten year old. He glanced around to see if anyone was watching him and then quickly approached the machine. It was a wood grained machine, just slightly taller than Dean with blue and gold trim decorating the front. A glass panel box occupied the upper half of the machine and sitting inside the glass was a swarthy man with a black goatee, hooped earrings, black leather vest over top a brilliant gold gypsy blouse and on top of his head sat a gold turban. As Dean leaned in to get a real good look he noticed the bright blue glass eyes that glinted in the carnival lights and then jumped when they moved suddenly to look right at him. Rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, Dean chuckled nervously, again checking to make sure no one had seen him and then stepped up to the machine.

"Okay, Zoltar. Let's have it. Tell me my fortune." He dug into his pocket and retrieved a quarter, dropping it in to the fortune telling machine. The display lit up in an eerie red and gold, and Zoltar took his first breath. Following the instructions, Dean adjusted the coin ramp and pressed the button at just the right moment, watching as his quarter rolled down the ramp and arched perfectly into Zoltar's mouth. The machine stopped and at waist height Dean's fortune card popped out of the machine, dropping into the slot waiting to be retrieved. Dean frowned, picking it up and turning it over.

"_Your wish has been granted_. What the Hell's that supposed to mean? I didn't even make a wish." He stuffed it into his pocket, gave the machine a parting scowl and strode away grumbling to himself.

* * *

Sam sat at the little hotel table, pounding down his meal, all the while, his eyes never leaving the leather journal sitting in the center of his bed. He huffed at it as if trying to warn it off, but the journal didn't budge.

Tossing his empty food wrappings in the garbage, Sam crossed the room and took up a spot on the empty bed, grabbing the remote and kicking his feet up on the mattress. He surfed through one hundred plus channels not finding anything that could hold his attention longer than thirty seconds and every time his mind would wander, Sam's eyes would find their way back to that journal.

He set down the remote and brought his hands up to his face, rubbing absentmindedly at his eyes while considering his options. Weapon cleaning was out. He had two; Ruby's knife and his Taurus, but nothing to clean either and no ammunition to restock the clip. A shower was a possibility but a quick glance around the room reminded him that he hadn't bothered to grab his bag and so a fresh change of clothes was out. There's always pay-per-view, he thought. And then a flash remembrance of Castiel watching porn and then testing it out on Meg put a fast kibosh on any pay-per-view in the near future. There were some things that even without a soul, Sam wouldn't consider.

Sam let his hands fall into his lap and opened his eyes, once again landing on the journal.

"Fine!" he growled. He clambered off of the bed, took the one step to its twin and sat down, pulling the journal into his grasp. Taking a deep breath, Sam opened it to the first page of Dean's messy scrawl.

_Oh, so you've finally given up the ghost and decided to read this, huh? Well, congratulations. That means you've either gotten your soul back or I've forced the journal on you and after fighting it for half the day you've broken down and given in. With our luck, I'm gonna guess it's not because we got your soul back. _

_This started out being a case study about you and your soullessness and has morphed into something completely different. It's not really surprising, living in each other's pockets like we have for our entire lives; it starts to eat at me when I can't share every random thought that crosses my mind with you. You know that I'm not one for chick flick moments, but I'm struggling here. Really struggling. So since I can't tell you, I guess I'm using this as an outlet. Just…don't let me acting like a soppy girl turn you away from this. Give it a chance, is all I'm asking._

_Dean_

"You _are_ a soppy girl," Sam told the empty room but turned the page anyway and was met with a humorous recount of a cute little red head walking in on the tail end of his shower.

Sam laughed appreciatively, remembering her reaction to his full-on nudity, the flush that spread up her neck and across her cheeks was nearly the same shade as her short crop of hair, the stammer on her pretty lips. Truth be told, he'd considered wrapping himself in the towel just to ease her humiliation, but then he'd seen the spark of interest in her eyes and decided against it.

"What Dean doesn't know won't hurt him." He laughed again and turned the page. Instead of finding the next part of the case study he found another note from his brother.

_You think I didn't know? Dude, I'm your brother. I taught you everything you know about women and I'm a better read than you are. I saw the look in Marci's eyes and I was sure she'd be back, just as sure as I was that she'd have already told her sister all about it. My only questions is, __Why the Hell does it happen to you__? I've been waiting my entire life for a threesome and you luck out with __twins__? I hate you…How was it? It was awesome, right? Nevermind, I already know. I heard. From two rooms down I could hear. Jesus Christ, man! Just…the next set of twins are mine, dammit._

Sam laughed out loud and had to set the book down while his mind replayed that morning.

* * *

Having left the carnival, Dean had returned to the motel room well after midnight and upon finding no Sam, decided that he didn't have the energy for anything further. He didn't even bother with a shower, just stripped out of his jeans and over shirt and climbed under the covers of his bed. Half an hour later and he was still lying there staring at the ceiling, one arm thrown up above his head, the other resting lighting across his chest feeling the rhythm of his breathing. If it hadn't been for his mind racing at one hundred miles an hour, his slow steady breaths would have long ago put him to sleep, but that wasn't the case. Dean rolled onto his side looking across the dark room at the empty bed and sighed miserably.

"Fuck, I just want him to come home. I just…wish I had my little brother back." He closed his eyes to keep the moisture that was building at bay and it was then that Dean finally dozed off.

* * *

Choosing not to relive the nightmare, Sam was quick to pass through the notes regarding his adventure into the clown convention, but couldn't help but notice when suddenly Dean's chaotic handwriting was suddenly replaced by Gwen neat script.

_Sam,_

_We just finished lugging your heavy ass into the motel room and I must say, for someone that supposedly doesn't sleep, you sure can saw logs. _

_All kidding aside, I wrote down our earlier discussion regarding your phobia hoping that it will help you figure more of this 'condition' out. It's probably not as legible as it should be, since I'm still at least two out of three sheets to the wind, but the physical exertion of pulling your lifeless body from the car has gone a long way towards sobering me up. _

_Dean, however, has joined you in a perfect state of unconsciousness, taking up residence at the foot of your bed like a protective dog. How he managed to find room there, I don't know. He might be using your feet as a pillow and if so, ewww._

_I envy you guys though. Even as screwed up as your relationship is right now, you still have each other. Me? I'm left with Samuel. I used to look up to him and now I can't look at him without every nerve in my body screaming at me to get away. I don't think you know how lucky you are to have each other and I hope you're able to come up with a solution to your problem and I'm not just speaking about your lack of a soul, but the trust issues you both have going on._

_I'm only a phone call away if you need me for anything. _

_Gwen_

Below that, once again was Dean's handwriting.

_I don't trust Samuel. First chance we get, we're busting her out of there. I'm not leaving family behind…again._

_

* * *

_

The bed shifted slightly and in his sleep, Dean felt the brief rush of cool air as the covers were lifted. He breathed in the strangely familiar, soft scent of Prell shampoo and hummed quietly when chilly little fingers and toes dug underneath him seeking to share in his body heat. Dean turned into and tossed a protective arm over the little form and that's when he woke, sitting up in a panic.

"Sa…Sammy?" He stammered over the realization.

There, curled up beside him was a younger, much smaller version of his little brother. The boy mumbled sleepily, peeking out from beneath his flop of dark hair.

"What are you doing here?" Dean's voice betraying the emotion that had suddenly overwhelmed him.

"M'cold. Can I sleep here with you? Please, Dean?"

Dean was met with the largest, saddest puppy dog eyes ever, nearly brown in the dark room. He reeled in shock. This really was Sam. A miniature version of him, a fully souled version, but Sam none the less and Dean was frozen, uncertain what he should be doing. Just to be sure, he reached a hand out and pinched to boy in the arm.

"Ow, what was that for?" Sam sat up, rubbed at the sore spot and then reached out to hammer a fisted hand into Dean's adult chest.

"I was checking to see if I'm dreaming," Dean defended.

"You pinch yourself for that, you jerk. Fine. I'll go back to my own bed and freeze my ass off." Sam scooted to the edge of the mattress, intent on stomping back to his own bed, but was stopped when Dean reached out and snagged him in the crook of Dean's arm, pulling the boy back against the older man's chest.

"I'm sorry, Sammy." Dean pulled him into a full on hug. Sam struggled at first but after a short fight realized he wasn't able to wrestle himself out of his brother's hold; Dean just had too much strength compared to himself.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was muffled in the older brother's shirt.

"Yea?"

"I can't breathe."

"Oh my God, I'm sorry."

Sam took a deep breath when Dean pressed him away, one hand on each of Sam's upper arms. In the dim light of the room, Dean took a moment to really look at his brother. He pushed the boy's hair out of his face, resting his hand along Sam's jaw line and neck, his eyes tracing every plane and angle of the young face, every beauty mark, every facial expression, until there was absolutely no doubt in his mind.

"It's really you," he whispered.

* * *

_You'd asked me a question tonight. A question I wasn't prepared to hear, a question, honestly, I wasn't prepared to answer. If we don't get your soul back, if you are what I'm left with, will I still try to keep you safe? Always was my answer, no matter what. _

_Well, I've had a little time to think about it. Funny that you go on a soul-searching walk and I end up finding the answer. Always was my answer. Always is still my answer. _

_You and I have had this round and round discussion about who you are. Are you Sam or something else? Are you my brother? It doesn't matter. And I'm sure that I'll tell you differently if you ask me again next week, but when it really comes down to it. When it really matters, I don't care whether you are something else or not. You're the most important person in my life and I will do everything in my power to protect you. It's been my whole existence for twenty seven years and I don't see that ever changing. _

_So I guess the question is what are you going to do if you're left with me?_

"You're such a chick," Sam informed his brother's journal, shaking his head in disapproval. But it didn't stop him from quickly turning the page.

"It's three o'clock in the morning. This had better be important," came the gruff greeting on the other end of the phone line.

"It is," replied Dean quietly. He passed his very young little brother a smile before turning his back to gain some privacy. "I think I shrunk Sam."

"Dean…Son, did you have a nightmare?"

"What? Bobby, I'm serious," he hissed into the phone. "I went to that carnival like you asked."

"You said. Turned up nothing."

"Right. But before I left I found one of those Zoltar Speaks fortune telling machines."

"Like from the movie, Big?"

"Exactly! I put a quarter in and got a slip of paper that said, Wish granted."

Dean looked over his shoulder at the boy who had been surfing though channels but was now watching Dean with wary, frightened eyes. Dean lowered his voice again and tried to hide the panic he felt, "But I swear to God, I didn't make a wish."

"_Every_ time," Bobby grouched. "Every _blasted_ time. What is it with you Winchesters? You just can't keep your noses clean for anything?"

"Bobby," Dean pleaded.

"Okay, so you shrunk him. What are we talkin'? Is he Smurf size?"

"Um,no." Dean looked again at the kid, sizing him up. "I think he's about 5'3", 5'4"."

"Oh, well, that's not so bad."

"And he's 10 years old."

"I am not!" Came the argument from across the room. The boy had scooted off the bed and was quickly closing the gap between him and his brother. "Give me that." He reached up and snagged the phone out of Dean's startled hand.

"Uncle Bobby?"

"Sam?" It was Bobby's turn to be startled. On the other end of the line was a voice so young that Bobby hadn't heard it in nearly fifteen years and the shock of that forced Bobby to sit down suddenly. "How did this happen?"

"I don't know, Uncle Bobby. I woke up cuz I got cold and climbed into Dean's bed and then he freaked out and pinched me."

"He pinched you?"

"Yeah, the jerk," Sam frowned. "Oh. _And_ he's old."

"I am not!" Dean mirrored Sam's earlier argument. "Give that back."

There was a brief war over the phone, but Dean having regained a height advantage, won easily.

"Bobby…"

"You _pinched_ him?"

"That's not really the point here," Dean argued, throwing a dark look at Sam. A look that had 'tattle tale' written all over it. He reached a long arm out and tapped young Sam in the shoulder.

Not to be outdone, Sam clenched a fist and drilled it as hard as he could into Dean's stomach. Satisfied with the umph that he earned from the hit, Sam stomped back over to the bed, climbed up and proceeded to sit Indian style, crossing his arms over his narrow chest, scowling at Dean.

Turning back into himself, Dean rolled his eyes thinking, _I'm trading punches with my munchkin brother. What the Hell?_

"Dean, how did this happen?" Bobby asked again, now fully up to speed with Dean's own state of panic.

"I don't know. It's just like Sam said. We woke up and he was…little." Behind him came a growl of displeasure for having been once again referred to as little.

"And you're sure it's Sam?"

"Oh, yea," Dean breathed out, his voice having failed him. He turned again to look at the boy and he shrank back a little when he found that he was being leveled with one of the darkest bitchfaces Sammy could dole out. "Oh, yea," he repeated.

"When did he come back? And he said he woke up. When did he start sleeping?" Bobby had rattled off the questions so quickly that Dean was thrown.

"What?" Dean shook the cobwebs from his head. "He didn't come back. Sam's right, we just woke up. Oh, there's something else." Dean lowered his voice again and turned away from Sam's prying eyes. "He has a soul."

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure, yea."

"Okay, let me ask you this. Have you tried calling your brother's phone?"

"No. Why?"

"Just a hunch. Listen, I've got people I can call that might know a little something about this, but it's too late now to get a hold of anyone, so it's gonna have to wait till morning. But you call Sam now and then we'll talk once the sun's up, okay?"

"Yea, I guess, but…what am I supposed to do with the midget?"

"Do what you always do," and with that Bobby disconnected the call, leaving Dean staring down at his cell phone in confusion.

* * *

It had been six hours. Six hours in which Sam had his nose buried in his brother's black leather journal. Six hours in which it hadn't left his hands for more than a few minutes. It was even taken into the bathroom on one occasion. Who knew that Dean could write such a detailed and enthralling depiction of their last few months?

Sam had tried to rationalize out why he'd been stuck to the journal like glue, but when it all boiled down; he had to admit that it was just a good read. The journal was just as thorough as their Dad's hunting journal had ever been, including maps and drawings and well researched facts. But beyond that it was personal; specifically written to Sam and about Sam.

So it shouldn't have come as a surprise to Sam when he was startled out of his journal trance when his cell phone vibrated and beeped an alert for an incoming message. He reached over the table where he was now sitting and picked up his phone, taking a look at the caller id. Sam had purposefully shut the phone off to make it more difficult to track, but the message from Dean still beeped through. He frowned at the phone and then set it down gingerly like it was a fragile thing and pushed it away. No way was he giving in to the temptation to listen to the message.

Sam picked the journal back up and flipped to the next page and began reading another one of Dean's personal messages to Sam. These little messages were scattered evenly throughout the journal, like a post script to the information and research. Each of the messages, were to Sam, like opening a little window into his brother's soul and he began to become uncomfortable reading them.

_Caught you dancing today. Some stupid little pop song you'd heard playing this morning got stuck in your head and the next thing I know you're dancing in your seat, leaning over the laptop. Had to leave the room to keep from laughing._

"Yea, right. I wasn't dancing," Sam disagreed.

_I didn't say it at the time, but you did a nice stitch job on my back. I didn't say a lot that I should have that day…Maybe later. _

Sam looked up out into the quiet room. After so many months back together it was a strange feeling to now have no one around. Dean provided a constant soundtrack to Sam's day and being without that left Sam with a weird sense of 'what now?' He glanced at cell phone lying across the table from him and then averted his eyes and went back to the journal.

_Cas thinks you're jealous of him. Like that's even possible…you're not, right? I mean, I don't tell him everything, just…stuff about you and me. Cuz who else am I gonna tell? Bobby doesn't want to hear it anymore and well, you're not interested._

"Hell, I thought Cas had a crush on you," Sam confided in the journal. "That was until I saw him with Meg. And even _I_ know there's something really wrong with that situation."

_I had a dream today…right before I woke up with a concussion. But…nevermind. I don't know why I even brought it up._

After everything else that Dean had shared in the journal, Sam found it strange that Dean would choose to omit a dream. This entry was only a couple weeks old and Sam tried to remember when Dean had sustained a concussion and couldn't come up with an answer.

_God, I hate you somedays! I realize you don't care, but do you have to be such an asshole about it? It's Thanksgiving for Christ sakes and I'll admit it, I just want to go home and see Lisa and Ben. Instead I here with you and you're doing an outstanding job of making me miserable. Thanks a freakin' lot, you __dick__._

Sam set the book down and grabbed up his phone. He hit the button for his calendar. When had he missed Thanksgiving? He could care less about the holiday, but the food? At least Dean and he could agree on one thing, Pie is awesome and pumpkin was Sam's favorite.

"Two weeks ago? Really?"

He exited out of the calendar and saw the voicemail alert flash across the screen again. Sam sat there staring at it, suddenly struck by the sensation of _wrong_. Hesitantly, Sam pressed his thumb to the call button and put the phone to his ear.

* * *

"Dean, what's going on?"

"I don't know, buddy." Dean sat down on the edge of the bed beside his pint sized brother and put a comforting arm around his slender shoulders. "But we're gonna figure it out, okay? You and me."

Swimming with emotion, Sam's hazel eyes looked up into Dean's face and the older brother couldn't stop himself from pulling the boy tighter into his hold.

"I need to make one more call, alright? And then you and I are gonna sit down and work this out. Okay, Sam?"

The little boy nodded his head, lowering his chin to his chest.

"Sammy?" Dean took the boy's chin in his hand and tilted Sam's face back up to him. "You believe me, right?"

"Of course, Dean. I believe you."

"That's my boy," Dean smiled and ruffled Sam's hair making the kid swat Dean's adult hands away.

Pulling the cell phone back out of his shirt pocket, Dean scrolled through the contacts finding and pressing Sam's name. Walking to the other side of the room so that Sammy wouldn't hear him, he waited anxiously for the phone to connect and when it did, Dean thought his heart was going to stop.

"This is Sam, leave me a message."

"Crap," Dean groaned. He took a deep breath and listened for the beep. "Hey, it's me. Look, something's happened and I need to talk to you…like right away, okay? I don't know where you're at right now, but I'm still at that same motel in Missouri. Man, I don't even know if you're gonna get this message. For all I know, you're sitting here right now, but I'm following Bobby's gut. So yea, call me…please. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

Setting the phone down on the table, Dean went and took up a spot on the bed next to his, sitting on the edge, legs hanging over the side, fingers wound into the comforter. Sam slid out to the side of the opposite bed mirroring Dean's position.

The stark difference was not lost on Dean. Normally if his brother would have sat across from him, their knees would have been intruding on each other's space, even touching. It was something that they were both aware, but never spoke of. No use admitting that every once in a while they needed that physical contact with each other to feel whole. Now, Sam's legs weren't long enough for his feet to even touch the floor, let alone extend out into Dean's space.

"How did you know?" Dean asked after taking a deep breath.

"Know what? That you were my brother?"

Dean nodded.

"I'd know you anywhere, Dean." The young boy gave his brother a smile that was meant for only him. "But I don't understand. Why are you old?"

Dean smirked at the innocent jab.

"Are you gonna get scared if I tell you the truth?"

"No," Sam scoffed; insulted that Dean would ever think it. What hadn't he seen or faced in the last two years of his life that could scare him any longer.

"Good boy. The truth is I don't know what happened…exactly."

"What does that mean? Exactly?"

"I made a wish, Sammy."

"A wish to be old?"

"I'm not that old," Dean defended.

He thought for a moment, trying to weigh his words carefully, but looking at his brother, all he could do was tell him the truth. He reached out and placed a hand on Sam's knee.

"No, I wished that I could have my little brother back."

Sam chewed that over for a moment, watching a myriad of emotions play over Dean's face.

Dean could see the alarm building, but before he was able quell the fear, Sam was up on his feet, pacing.

"Why? What happened? Am I okay? Am I…"

Dean should have known better. Even at this age, Sam was a whip crack genius. He had read Dean's body language and interpreted the words to mean that something had happened to him, to Sam. And he wasn't wrong, but how would Dean explain the apocalypse and Hell and souls to a kid.

"Sammy, I…"

Sam stopped mid-stride, his hands firmly planted on his slim hips, demanding Dean's attention.

"I'm not a little kid, Dean. I'll be thirteen in a few months."

"Whoa, settle down, Sam. I'm not trying to treat you like a kid. I'm trying to explain to you what I know." He took Sam by the shoulder and steered him back towards the bed, sitting down with him to try and quiet the boy. "Are you going to calm down?"

Sam swallowed the big lump in his throat, nodding his acceptance.

"Alright then. What happened? A lot's happened. I don't even know where to start."

Sam looked up at Dean, his eyes swimming with worry. Not wanting to give him any another reason to be concerned, Dean was quick to go on.

"But the reason I made the wish was a selfish one. Sam left…you…left. You got mad at me and you went off on your own. I haven't seen you in three days and I'm worried and I'm miserable and I made a mistake making a stupid wish."

"I left?"

"Yea," Dean answered softly. "You do that…occasionally. I think it's hard for you sometimes, being the younger brother. But you've got to trust that I'm going to do whatever it takes to make this right."

Sam straightened his back, nodding confidently.

"I trust you, Dean."

* * *

"What does that mean? You're sitting here right now?"

Sam replayed the message for a third time, hearing the fear and uncertainty in Dean's voice and trying to come to a decision on what exactly he should do about the message. He set the phone down and did a complete turn, coming to a stop in front of the black journal. Sam picked it up, running his fingers over its leather cover, getting lost in the texture.

Dean had spent months writing this book for Sam, hoping beyond hope that this journal would be the answer to Sam's dilemma, all the while knowing that their chances were slim; knowing that he might have to face the fact that they would never save Sam's soul from Hell.

Sam thought about this; Dean's never ending commitment to his family, to Sam. He thought about the journal and all the hours Dean had poured into it. He thought about the question he'd asked Dean just weeks before. 'If this is what you're left with, will you still be trying so hard to keep me safe?'

_Always was my answer, no matter what. _

Sam grabbed up his coat, tucking his phone and the journal into the inside pocket, did a quick double check of the room, deciding there was nothing else worth taking with him, and exited the hotel room and set off to find a vehicle to hotwire.

* * *

It was still dark when Sam pulled the stolen Corolla into the motel parking lot, coming to a stop next to Dean's Chevy Impala. He paused for a moment looking at the room with its curtains drawn closed and wondered for a brief second what he would find inside; hesitant also for having to once again face and bare Dean's scrutiny.

Exiting the car, he walked up to the door, tested the knob and frowned when he found it unlocked. Warily he turned the door knob and eased the door open. The sounds of the television drifted out of the door along with Dean's deep, throaty laugh and quiet whispers and Sam knew immediately that his brother was not alone in the room.

Pushing the door open further, he saw the light from the TV flash hypnotically around the darkened room and light up the side of Dean's face.

This was not a man who was either frightened or uncertain. This was a man who was enjoying cartoons while eating a bowl of Fruit Loops with…

Sam froze in his tracks.

"What the _Hell_?

Not having heard Sam enter, Dean nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Sam's deep adult voice.

"Oh my God!"

Dean scrambled off the floor where he and young Sam had been sitting with their backs against the bed watching old episodes of South Park. Shaken and elated to see Sam, Dean cleared the space between them and wrapped his brother up in a relieved hug; Sam immediately clawing his way free of Dean's hold.

"Oh my God," Dean repeated. "I thought…"

He pointed at the miniature version and then back at the full grown man.

"I thought I'd done something really bad.

"Um, ya think, Sherlock? What the Hell is this?"

"Holy Shit!" came the young exclamation from behind Dean's back.

"Sammy, don't cuss," Dean admonished, glowering over his shoulder at the boy.

The older Sam's jaw went slack, his face overtaken completely in shock, while younger Sam twitched a sideways bitchface in Dean's direction before going on.

"Is that me? I got tall! Holy…"

Dean cleared his throat to interrupt the expletive.

"Crap," Sammy finished. "I'm a _freakin_' giant!"

Circling his adult counterpart, Sammy poked a slender finger into Sam's muscular arm in amazement and then grabbed Sam's hand, hefting it into the air and placing his own twin hand, palm to palm for a comparison.

"Look at me. I could crush a guy with these hands."

"Dean, tell this _kid_ to stop touching me," Sam warned.

Catching the deadly serious look in Sam's eyes, Dean reached out and snagged his little brother away from his…other…little brother and pulled Sammy back into his chest, holding him there protectively. If the boy noticed the dark looks he was getting, he didn't seem to mind them. He was just in awe of his adult self.

"Sammy…" Dean said softly over the boy's shoulder. "Why don't you go back and watch some more of the cartoon. Sam and I need to talk."

The twelve year old turned abruptly in Dean's hands and poked a firm index finger into Dean's chest.

"You said you weren't going to treat me like a kid."  
"I'm not."

"No, you're just sending me away so the 'adults' can talk…" Sam's adolescent voice cracked, "about me! Fine," he ground out when he saw that Dean wasn't going to give in to him. "Whatever." Little Sam stomped off towards the bed, plopping down on the pillows and crossed his arms in angry protest.

Dean rolled his eyes at the boy. "It only got worse when you turned thirteen," he directed towards the adult Sam, turning to face him and smirked uneasily when he found Sam standing with his arms crossed in the same manner.

"Do you want to explain to me what's going on here? Or am I just supposed to guess?"

"A Zoltar Speaks machine," was Dean's simple answer.

"Like from the movie, Big?" Sam's eyebrows shot up underneath his hair line in surprise.

"Yes, exactly."

"You wished for _this_?" The distain apparent in Sam's tone. "Dean, you really ought to know by now that these things never turn out the way you want them to."

"No. I didn't _mean_ to wish for anything."

"Well, it must have read your mind then, I mean, look." He gestured with a long arm in the boy's direction who was sitting there eavesdropping. "You got your very own little Sammy. Now you can sit around playing Dad to your little heart's content."

"Sam…"

"No, really. This might actually be a good thing."

Dean was thrown by the suddenly eager look on Sam's face. He stepped away, suspicious of what might come out of Sam's mouth next, but his younger brother followed in pursuit of Dean, reaching out to lay both hands on either of Dean's shoulders, gripping them tightly.

"This could work. You get a little brother back and I'm free to go about my business."

"Go about your… Are you insane?" Dean's voice rose harshly making young Sam jump to his feet, ready to defend his brother. Dean caught the movement and held up a hand, mollifying the boy's actions. At this age, Sam was still following Dean's orders, verbal or otherwise, without hesitation. Sammy stood down, but didn't sit down. Instead he crept closer so that he could better hear what the two men were arguing about.

Dean lowered his voice. "Do you honestly believe that this changes anything? Like I'm just gonna let you walk away again?"

"Like you have a choice," Sam growled menacingly, leaning into Dean's space.

"I _do_ have a choice," Dean pushed back. "I told you. I'm not leaving your soul to rot in Hell. I won't do it."

"But you got what you wanted. Look, a nice healthy soul, right there." Again Sam raised his hand to indicate his younger self. "Why do you gotta try and force feed misery and pain and _possibly_ death down my throat? Take what you've been given and run with it."

Dean brought a lightning fast palm up, smacking Sam upside his head.

Sam sent Dean a hard look.

"Careful, Dean. The State's not gonna let you keep the kid if you show a history of domestic…"

"You're an idiot," Dean spat, interrupting Sam's snide remark. "I'm not gonna _trade_ my brother for a younger model. After everything we've been through…"

"Do I get a say in this?"

The question came from behind the older Winchesters where a twelve year old Sam stood near tears after watching it all break down in front of him. The two men turned towards the boy, surprised they'd let him sneak up on them like that.

"Yea, sure. Why not?" Sam answered. He bent over at the waist, putting his hands on his knees bringing himself down to well below Sammy's eye level. With a patronizing tone, he asked, "What does widdle Sammy want?"

Sammy cocked his head to the side, analyzing his older self with cold eyes. "You know, you _might_ be bigger than me and I'm sure you _could_ crush me with those hands. But I guaran-damn-tee I get one good shot in before you know what's hit you."

Sam straightened, looking at the boy like he'd just received a nasty electrical shock from him. Dean also reeled slightly at the young boy's tone. He edged closer to Sam, leaned in and whispered, "And it really did get worse when you turned thirteen."

Taking one large step forward, Sammy came right up to Dean, hesitated for just a moment and then threw his arms around Dean's middle.

"I wanna go home, Dean."

Dean pushed the bangs back from the kid's face and was surprised to find that he had again flip flopped back to tears.

"Oh, Sammy." He pulled his little brother into a hug and looked up into the older Sam's eyes searching for compassion where he knew he would find none.

"Not that I don't like being here," the boy backpedaled. "But I want to go home to Dean and Dad."

Sam looked at Dean and mouthed the question, "Does he know about Dad?" Dean flashed a look of warning over the boy's head.

"I want my Dean back. We don't fight like you do. You guys make each other miserable and if that's what I'm gonna be when I get old, then I don't wanna get old."

"I promise it's not like this all the time," Dean offered.

"Just most the time," Sam added, earning himself a scowl from both Sammy and Dean.

"It's gonna be okay," Dean soothed. "Come on, I told you. We're gonna figure this out, right?"

"Yea," Sammy answered, nodding at the ground.

"Sam?" Dean turned the question to the older twin.

"Yea," he rolled his eyes and breathed a sigh. "I'm in. I'll need my laptop."

"All charged up." Dean nodded toward the small kitchenette table. Sam crossed to the table, sat down and waited for the computer to load up.

"How 'bout you and I go get you a change of clothes?" Dean asked the younger boy who nodded his agreement.

"I saw a Walmart about half a mile down the road. Go north…What… are you doing?"" Sam said, looking up over the top of the laptop screen and found his brother digging through a duffle. Dean popped up with one of Sam's well worn hoodies and tossed it to Sammy.

"It's cold out there and the kid needs something to keep him warm."

"Don't spill anything on it," Sam warned, using a pen to point at the boy.

"I'm not five," Sammy griped and when Sam turned back into the computer, Sammy lifted his hand and flipped him off. Dean caught him in the act and slapped his hand down, shaking his head fractionally in reprimand.

"Let's go, tough guy."

Dean pulled the door open to leave and then leaned back into the room, "And you better ditch that car, Sam."

* * *

When Dean and Sammy returned, the car was gone and so was Sam. Dean found a chicken scratch note lying on the laptop.

Went to ditch car…Dad.

Sammy carried a plastic bag full of clothes to the bed and began stripping out of Sam's hoodie and the sleep clothes he had been wearing and pulled on a new pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

"You hungry?" Dean asked, waving a plastic spoon at him.

Sammy's eyes lit up and he jumped up on the bed, kneeling in front of Dean like a happy dog.

"Absolutely!"

Dean climbed up onto the bed next to him and they opened the package and dug in. This is how Sam found them a few minutes later. He walked into the room to the sight of Dean and his younger counterpart sitting cross-legged on the bed, bent over something in Dean's lap, spoons dangling from each of their mouths.

"What are you eating?" he asked, not really sure he wanted to know the answer.

"Cookie Dough!" Sammy cheered.

"Did you know this stuff comes in tubes now?" Dean asked equally happy in his sugar high.

"You're not supposed to eat it uncooked, Dean. It's got raw eggs in it."

Dean smiled from behind his spoon, utterly gleeful.

"Do I look like I care? It's cookie dough, Sam. That's like one step away from pie!"

Sam shook his head and turned away from the scene. Behind him, Dean licked his spoon clean and then handed the tube over to Sammy.

"So…" Dean scooted to the edge of the bed and stood up, tossing his spoon in the garbage. "What did you find?"

"This is gonna sound really crazy but, I think you need to do like Tom Hanks did and go back to the carnival."

"You think? Is it that easy?"

"Only one way to find out."

* * *

They waited until dark and then headed down the road towards where Dean knew where the carnival was.

Standing in front of Zoltar, all three Winchesters were frozen, none of them having the nerve to step up to the machine.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Sam asked. The question was directed at Dean, but he was unsurprised when both Dean and Sammy answered 'yes' simultaneously.

Dean took a deep breath and stepped forward, pulling a quarter out of his pocket.

"Ready?" Dean looked down at his baby brother. Suddenly he was torn about letting the boy go. With Sammy looking up at him, Dean could see the world in his eyes. This young man who held Dean's entire life and heart in his small hands; who had yet to face all the trials of their life together. Dean wanted nothing more than to shield him from all of it. To be everything that he couldn't be for his own Sam; to be his hero.

The empathetic young man who had always been able to read his brother, swept in, wrapping his arms tightly around Dean, burying his face in the man's chest. Dean's hand came down to rest at the back of Sammy's head, his fingers threading into his overgrown hair. He tilted the boy's face up and wiped at the tears that glistened beneath his eyes.

"I love you, kiddo."

Sammy nodded, swallowing hard.

"Love you, too, Dean."

Behind them, Sam cleared his throat quietly. "Can we um…get this over with?"

Dean closed his eyes, quickly counted to ten to keep the seething anger down.

"What's the matter, Sam?" he asked through clenched teeth. "You see a clown?"

Dean felt the boy against him, seize in fear and he patted his back protectively and then pried his arms from around his middle. Dean approached the machine, dropped his quarter into the slot and followed the directions.

"You make your wish, I'll make mine. Okay?"

Sammy nodded in agreement, squeezing his eyes shut. Dean followed suit. When the coin had been lobbed into Zoltar's open mouth and the machine's music stopped, Dean opened his eyes. Sammy was still standing there, staring at him with despondent eyes. Dean snatched up the card from within the slot and growled.

_Your wish has been granted_

Sammy brought a stiff foot back and kicked Zoltar has hard as he could and then dropped to the ground, cradling his aching foot. Dean squatted down next to him.

"You break it?"

The teary boy shook his head angrily.

"You woke up like this, right?" Sam asked.

"Yea," Sammy answered simply.

"Maybe you've gotta go to sleep for the wish to be granted."

Dean considered this, nodding. It made sense and what other choice did they have, really. He helped Sammy stand and offered to carry him to which the boy adamantly refused. They all walked slowly back to the car.

* * *

The ride to the motel was quiet except for the occasional sob from the backseat. Dean watched through the rearview mirror as Sammy grieved for the loss of his own family, which only solidified Dean's need to protect the boy and to restore his own brother. And when Dean wasn't watching, Sam was watching him. And between the flashes of street lamp light, Sam saw the look of stone cold resolve sweep over Dean.

By the time they had reached the motel, Sammy was sound asleep in the back, having worn himself out crying. Doing his best not to wake him, Dean gathered the lanky boy into his arms and carried him through the door that Sam held open, laying him down on his own bed.

He knelt on the floor next to the bed and reached up to push Sammy's too long hair out of the way, taking a moment to study his young face, rememorizing every aspect. Exhausted, Dean rested his head on his outstretched arm and continued to pet Sammy's hair until finally he drifted off to sleep himself.

Sam sat at the table watching the exchange, seeing the unabashed love that Dean had for the boy and the heartache that went right along with it. It was not, he realized, _this_ boy in particular that affected Dean so dramatically, but _Sam_. Himself. In that moment, Sam knew that Dean was never going to give up. He should have known it all along as it had never been in Dean's nature to give up on anything. And he knew just as certainly that he didn't want to be here when Dean woke up and turned his attention back to Sam and his missing soul with renewed vigor.

A few hours later, Dean woke up. He stretched his arms, rolling his neck and shoulders and then wondered why he was sitting on the floor. Realization came crashing down on him when he looked into the empty bed. All at once he was relieved and heartbroken and all he could do was rest his forehead against the mattress and shudder a lone sob.

"Sam?"

The room was quiet and Dean looked around for a tell-tale sign of Sam, but it wasn't until he noticed the laptop was missing that panic set in. Stretching his numb legs, Dean climbed slowly off of the floor and began combing the room for a note, a clue, something that would tell him that Sam had run out for coffee or food or beer…something. Instead he discovered that Sam's bag was missing as was a box of ammunition and forty dollars from Dean's wallet, but Dean's black journal had been left lying on the table.

Sam had gone and this time Dean knew that there was no use looking for him. He'll find his way home when and if he wants to come home. Dean slipped down on to the edge of the bed, lost his footing and slid all the way to the floor, dropping his head to top of his knees.

_But I think I'm better off without it._

_You're wrong. You don't know how wrong you are._

_I'm not so sure about that._

_Sam ...Don't walk away. Sam._


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: This is the final chapter boys and girls. I hope you've enjoyed the ride and if not, I'm sorry but I have a no returns policy. Goodbye RoboSam. (And can I say, how friggin' cool is it that I wrote that phrase before the show did?) I will miss you RoboSam. You were scary, funny, sexy and you kept us on our toes. And you were taller too, right? Or bigger. Am I right? Mmmm...anyway. I look forward to Sammich time. I love me some Sammy.**

**Disclaimer: I tell you every time that I don't own them. I've admitted to kidnapping them. I've been paid money to have them shipped out to several of you. But honestly...They're NOT here! I don't know where they are. Honest!**

**

* * *

**

Dec 15th

The kitchen was unusually dark. The only light, filtering in from the library, cast a soft glow across the round table where Dean was sitting, head down, sprawled out over several of Bobby's reference books. It was the first real sleep he'd had in four days and Bobby was hard put to wake him.

Even in his sleep, Bobby could see the tension and worry etched across the young man's face and it pulled at his heart the way nothing else could.

Quietly, Bobby pulled a chair out, taking a seat next to Dean and watching him, considering his options before placing a hand on Dean's shoulder, shaking him gently.

"Dean?"

"I'm not sleeping," Dean denied, his head popping up off the table.

He blinked away the sleep, his unfocused eyes, rolling around the room before landing on the older hunter sitting beside him. Bobby smirked in amusement at the man's obvious cover and rubbed his hand over the top of Dean's shoulder, giving him a firm, grounding squeeze.

"He's awake," Bobby said gently, "and he's asking for you."

Reality splashed over Dean like a bucket of ice water and he jerked awake. But as much as his instincts told him to bolt down the stairs, Dean remained seated; his heart not yet ready to face the truth of the situation.

* * *

Dec 10th

"He will sleep now."

Pale eyelids blinked slowly around dark, unemotional irises. It was almost trance-like. From the moment the ominous reaper had turned away from Sam, Dean had found himself spellbound by Death's stare. So much so that at first, he didn't realize that Death was _in fact_, speaking to him.

"I'm sorry?" Dean asked, shaking the fog from his head.

"Your brother. He's asleep," the pallid man repeated, approaching the panic room doorway.

"Oh, yea. Good."

"For how long?" Bobby's voice broke through the unnatural quiet. Dean had almost forgotten that the older hunter was standing there with him even though Bobby had never relinquished his steadying hold on Dean's elbow.

"Until he no longer needs to sleep," Death answered sardonically. Turning his attention back to Dean, Death offered further instruction.

"Tread carefully, Dean. Remember what we discussed; what you learned."

And with that he was gone. No trace of demon sulfur, no beat of feathered wing, just gone. Dean wasn't sure whether to cry out for his return or to breathe a sigh of relief and so he did neither.

"He's a cryptic son of a bitch, isn't he? What the Hell did he mean by that?"

"Right now, I don't care. All I care is he gave me Sammy back."

"Hope so."

Dean caught the inferred 'you better' in Bobby's statement, 'You _better_ hope so'. He turned his face toward the man looking for a confirmation of the doubt he heard in Bobby's voice. The doubt he felt, himself.

"You don't think I did the right thing, do you?"

"Kid, I think you did the best thing, the _only_ thing you could have done. Other than…" Bobby stopped, suddenly conscious of where his mind was going.

"Other than putting him down," Dean finished. His heart sank and then he admitted, "It's okay. I thought it too."

Afraid to see more, they turned away from each other and focused their attention through the doorway to where Sam still laid on the padded metal cot.

"_God_," Dean groaned. "You saw him, Bobby. He was terrified."

At this, Bobby did turn to look at Dean. He took the young man by the arm to swing Dean's attention around to him.

"What I saw," Bobby started seriously, "was self-preservation and it's made him unpredictable and scary."

Dean couldn't argue with either of those depictions, but there was still a look of uncertainty on his face.

"Dean, he was desperate. You didn't hear him earlier. That Sam, that other guy…was just that; _another guy_. And he was desperate to hold onto his life and knew you were equally as desperate to get rid of him so you could have your brother back. He's probably been leveraging your feelings for your brother for a while now. To play to his own agenda.

"Am I that easily manipulated?"

"When it comes to Sam?"

"Yea, dumb question."

Once again they fell into silence, their focus returning to the sleeping man, whose hands hung loosely over the edge of the cot, raw and torn from his fight to get free.

"Well," Bobby said, breaking through the silence. "We should probably get him cleaned up, get those cuffs off and make him comfortable."

He stepped forward and then stopped when he realized that Dean wasn't following. Concern washed over him when he turned and found Dean staring with wide, panicked eyes. The man was frozen just outside of the room, unable to pull his gaze away from the still form of his brother.

"Dean?"

For the second time in half an hour, Dean shook his head clear. He roughly cleared his throat, pushing away the emotions that threatened to choke him.

"Yea, of course," he said, but couldn't force himself to take a step any closer. "I, uh, gotta go um…"

"Dean, you _did_ the right thing," Bobby encouraged.

"No, yea. I know. There's just um…this thing…"

Nodding his understanding, Bobby conceded.

"Alright, go on. I'll take care of Sam."

That was all the permission Dean needed. He backpedaled toward the staircase, trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and the grief and guilt that were now washing over him.

Bobby stood below, watching the young man's retreat. He knew that escape wasn't the answer to Dean's problems, but didn't have the heart to make him stand and face his fears either.

He had a basket full of fears and doubts himself, but Bobby had many more years of experience in such things and turned back toward the panic room to tackle the least of them.

Approaching the cot slowly, Bobby lowered himself down beside Sam and looked on the boy, the man, whom he regarded as a son. The peaceful sleep that Sam was in, nearly disguised the horrors of the past few hours. _Nearly_, but not quite. Bobby tried to shake the memory of Sam. A predator that prowled around the edge of the darkened shed, stalking Bobby like prey even though the older man was already tied down and defenseless in a chair. The cold look in Sam's eyes, the desperate tone of his voice as he tried to rationalize his actions; these were the things of nightmares. These were the reasons now, that even in his sleep, Bobby was leery of releasing him of the bindings that held him down.

"I, um…I'm trying real hard to understand, Sam. I am. But ya had me real worried tonight. Actually had to check my shorts after."

Bobby snorted a laugh, since Sam wasn't conscious to do so himself. He then pulled a small key from his shirt pocket and turning away from Sam, pressed it into the lock and released the first of Sam's feet from the cuffs before moving on to the second. There was damage to the material of his jeans, but Bobby was relieved to see that Sam's ankles had been protected by his boots. He slid the Blundstone boots free from Sam's long feet, setting them side by side on the floor at the foot of the cot.

"It just brought back lots of memories, ya know? Bad memories. Don't like seeing my family changed like that, like what I saw in you today."

Bobby took in a slow, shattered breath, trying to gain some composure. But composure it seemed was not to be found and Bobby felt the first tear roll down the round of his cheek, followed quickly by its match on the other side. And this time his back shook when his lungs convulsed around the sob he didn't know he'd been holding back.

"Don't think I could survive another Karen," he said, dropping his gaze into his lap. His eyes landed on callused, well worked hands. The same hands that had plunged the knife into the chest of his wife. The hands that had, a little more than a year ago, repeated the act, only that time using his Colt. Self consciously, Bobby began rubbing his thumb against the palm of one hand like he was trying to remove the invisible blood that was permanently stained there.

"There's no way I could survive," he continued. "I'd sooner have you go ahead and kill me then to live through that again."

He raised those same callused hands and swiped at his eyes and then, clearing his throat, turned his attention to Sam's wrists. They hadn't escaped the trauma unscathed. Bobby released the lock and gently pulled the cuff away from Sam's right wrist. It was scraped and seeping, but wasn't as bad as Bobby had feared. Unfortunately, he could see from where he sat that the left wrist was much worse off. This of course had been the arm Sam had pulled hardest against, using all his strength to put distance between him and the odd man that had earlier held the glowing orb of doom above Sam.

Bobby leaned over Sam's chest and unlocked the cuff. Removing this one from the boy's arm would be more difficult. The metal had bitten deep into the skin, becoming nearly imbedded there. Bobby closed his eyes to hide the cringe of pain he felt in Sam's stead.

"Dammit, Boy."

Bobby stood and left the room, returning shortly with a bowl of warm water, several clean cloths and a few other items he would need. He came around to that side of the cot and sat down, resting Sam's limp hand against Bobby's own thigh. Having saturated the first rag in clean, warm water, Bobby rang it out and then carefully applied pressure to the skin that was already swelling up around the metal of the cuff. Taking his time, he pried the cuff free of Sam's wrist and then examined the wounds as he cleaned them.

The skin was puckered and swollen, torn in a ragged ring encircling the upper most part of Sam's hand. It looked raw and terribly painful, but the sleeping man never once winced during Bobby's ministration.

"What a mess. And I don't just mean this wound, I mean this whole situation. What _is_ it with you Winchesters? The crap that happens to your family…it's like something out of one of those made for TV science fiction movies. This crap just doesn't _happen_ in real life."

Bobby pried open a round tin of cow salve and slathered the pungent smelling ointment on the open wound and then loosely wrapped a clean cloth around Sam's hand, pinning it in place with aluminum clips. He did the same to Sam's right hand but left it open to the air.

The water in his bowl was polluted with Sam's blood, so dark that Bobby's stomach turned at the thought of how much blood the kid might have lost from his shredded wrist.

Bobby pressed his fingers firmly beneath Sam's jaw line, seeking the pulse point and was only slightly surprised to find it slow and steady. Using his last clean cloth, Bobby swiped at the light sheen of sweat over Sam's face and neck.

Brushing the long hair away, Bobby took a moment to really study Sam's face. It was the same face that just hours before had stood over him, bared Bobby's throat and lifted an arm, ready to plunge the knife home. But it was also the same face that for the better part of three decades had warmed and repaired a gruff ole guy's broken heart.

"Look. You and Dean. You're all I have left. And I know you don't get why Dean had to do this, but I, for one, am glad he did. Just hope everything works out the way Dean thinks it will. Don't know about you, but I get tired of watchin' him be wrong all the time."

Bobby rose from the cot, crossing to the desk where earlier he had laid a couple blankets. He flipped on the desk lamp and then gathered the blankets. Opening them up, he laid them out across Sam's prone form, smirking slightly when they barely reached from shoulder to feet.

"You get some sleep, Kid. We'll talk things out later."

Bobby walked from the room, flipping the light switch on the outside of the door, leaving only the desk lamp for light. He trudged tiredly up the stairs and down the short hall into the kitchen. _No Dean_. He didn't find him in the library either. Prior to going to investigate upstairs, Bobby paused to look out the front door and shook his head gently at the sight of the older brother. He pulled the door open and carefully edged out onto the porch, waiting for an outburst or a reaction to his presence. When there wasn't one, he tentatively stepped down and walked across the lawn to Dean.

* * *

In his haste to escape, Dean tripped up the last step, stumbling into the hallway, panting. He braced himself against the wall, took a few gasping breaths and swallowed back the bile before realizing it was no use.

Quickly, he made his way through the house, flinging the door open and plowing down the front steps to the snow covered lawn. There he dropped to his hands and knees and retched.

When his stomach had been appeased, Dean sat back on his feet and wiped his mouth with the back of sleeve.

He sat like that for what seemed like forever; knees imbedded in snow, hands on top of thighs for balance, face turned up into the moonless gray of pre-dawn.

On the outside his body language read guilt, anguish and misery, and inside his mind was just as torturous, as he tore apart every action and decision he'd made in the last four months. Replaying fragments of every conversation and thought that had entered his mind:

_I'm not sure retrieving Sam's soul is wise._

_What? Why?_

_I want him to survive. _

_Unless you want to be a drooling mess?_

_When angels and demons agree on something, call me nuts; I pay attention._

_I don't think I want it back._

Dean closed his eyes and as if by magic, found his mind rewinding four years into the past; he and Sam sharing a beer, leaning against a fence that overlooked a winding river. And then it all clicked into place and Dean became aware that this, this was the moment in time when it all went sideways. His life…Sam's life. As messed up as their lives together had been, nothing had been the same after that day, that conversation.

_He said that he wanted me to watch out for you, to take care of you._

_He told you that a million times. _

_No, this time was different. He said that I had to save you._

_Save me from what?_

_He just said that I had to save you, that nothing else mattered; and that if I couldn't, I'd . . ._

_You'd what, Dean?_

_That I'd have to __kill__ you. He said that I might have to kill you, Sammy._

Their lives had been in a tailspin after that. The entire universe seemed aligned with the sole purpose of ripping them apart and Dean had fought tooth and nail to keep them together, but to what end? None of it had mattered. The dying and the deals and the resurrections and the self-sacrificing to save the world…all of it together wasn't enough to save Sam.

Even now, with Sam's soul having been retrieved from Hell, it still wasn't enough. Sam hadn't been saved…not really. He'd been torn from Michael and Lucifer's grasp sure, but he hadn't been saved from the agony of being there all this time. His soul had been reconnected with his body, but it had been done against Sam's wishes - well, that other Sam's wishes - and in a way that could easily be described as rape. Death had given Dean his brother back, but there was no guarantee that Sam would stay sane or even alive.

So Dean sat kneeling in the snow, this violation against his brother, resting completely on his shoulders and weighing heavily on his heart. He wanted to feel elated, secure in the knowledge that he had just saved Sam. But there was every possibility that all he'd done was condemn Sam's body to the same Hell that his soul had been through. And that was a failure to protect Sammy the magnitude of which Dean could barely comprehend.

"What did I do?" The question may have been directed toward the bleak sky, but it was intended for Bobby's ears.

Dean had felt rather than heard Bobby approach; felt the warmth of the man as he came to stand behind him. And the comfort.

With a slow, shaky breath, Dean lowered his head down to his chest, his chin rising with every intake of breath and then sinking with every exhale. It was all he could do to keep breathing, to keep from breaking. Bad enough that Bobby would see the snow, stained with what little he'd had in his stomach, but Dean refused to continue to let this scene play out any further than it already had.

It wasn't Bobby's responsibility to pick him up and put him back together. Dean had to dig deep and do that for himself so that he'd be capable of doing the same for Sam when the time came. When, not if.

"Come on."

As if knowing what Dean was thinking, what he _needed_, Bobby nudged a knee gently into Dean's side and made light of the situation.

"If you're gonna get sick and beat yourself up, you can at least do it inside. Not gonna be responsible for two big babies. I'm not a wet nurse, ya know."

Dean's head bobbed on his chest in a silent laugh, but otherwise didn't respond. Bobby reached down a put a hand under Dean's upper arm. Without waiting for a sign of approval, he hauled Dean to his feet, turning him and giving him a light push toward the house.

* * *

Dec 12th

Cold, from the folding metal chair, seeped through the fabric of his jeans, sending chills up Dean's spine, and exciting goose bumps down his arms. Absentmindedly, he rubbed at his skin and then groaned quietly when the movement pulled at stiff, unused muscles.

It had been a little more than forty-eight hours since Death had deposited a glowing orb into Sam, pressing the scarred soul back into his body while Sam begged and pleaded for Dean. And for a majority of those forty-eight hours following, Dean had sat in vigil inside the panic room, fighting off the screams that still echoed in his mind.

When the whole thing had gone down, Dean had wanted to rush into the room to his brother's side, hold him down on the cot to keep him from bucking against the metal bonds, but it was like he was barricaded from the room. Tried as he might, he couldn't force himself over the threshold.

It had taken the rest of that night and into the next morning for Dean to find the strength to breach that doorway. But since that time, he had only left the room for restroom breaks and once for a very quick shower when Bobby demanded that the funk be removed from the room.

Truth be told, Bobby had wanted Dean out of the way while he tended to a few of Sam's own personal needs. Young guys were so squeamish when it came to words like sponge bath and catheter.

Dean spent his time scribbling like mad in his journal and pouring through any book that Bobby was willing to bring down to him. At first he hadn't really had a direction or goal in his reading; he was just taking up the slack in the research department while his baby brother was out of commission. That was until he recalled Death's warning to remember what they'd discussed. He'd called him an intrepid detective and encouraged him to 'keep digging'. _It's about the souls_.

"What about the souls?"

The all too familiar voice directly beside Dean made him jump and he clutched at his chest, willing his heartbeat to slow down.

"Cas? Why do you have to do that to me _every_ time? One of these day's you're _actually_ going to give me a heart attack and then where will you be without me?"

"I will be here," Castiel paused, catching the roll of Dean's eyes and then continued with a slightly amused quirk of his eyebrow, "wondering where you are and why you are not returning my calls."

"Ha," Dean barked out a laugh. "That was a joke…you made a joke. It wasn't a very good one," Dean pulled a humorous frown and shook his head, "but I'll give you an _A_ for effort."

"_A_ what?"

Dean lowered his head to the desk with a thunk and a chuckle that rumbled in his chest.

"Either you're funnier than usual or I'm just _that_ freakin' tired."

"Have you slept?"

"A couple of hours," Dean raised his head, his eyes rolling towards the ceiling, counting out the hours between naps, "yesterday sometime."

Cocking his head to the side, Castiel gave Dean a critical frown.

"You need to sleep, Dean. You will be of no use to anyone if you are not rested."

"Yes Mom. Did _Bobby_ send you down here?"

"No. I came to talk with Sam."

"You, ah…know he's not really talkin' too much right now, right?"

"I am aware. But this is what you humans do. You visit friends that are ill. Offer them comfort."

"You're back to being friends with Sam? I kinda got the feeling that the summer lovin' was over, Sandra Dee. But don't let _me_ stop you."

Journal in hand, Dean pushed his chair back away from the desk and stood, turning it into Castiel's awaiting hand.

"Offer away. I'll just give you love birds some time, _but_," Dean hesitated in the doorway, wavering on the decision to leave his brother, "you be sure and let me know if he has anything to say."

He stood there for a moment longer, just long enough to watch Castiel sit down and lay a soothing hand on Sam's arm.

"Hello, Sam."

* * *

Dean was standing over the kitchen sink, rinsing off the plate he'd just used, when Castiel fluttered into the room. This time Dean had prepared himself for the sudden appearance and wasn't thrown off guard. Bobby on the other hand had not been expecting it and the newspaper he had been holding chattered his surprise.

"Where'd _you_ come from?" he barked.

"Your basement. Sam says hello," he added, turning to Dean, making the man's eyes crinkle around the edges in amusement.

"_Sam_ says?"

Bobby started to rise from his chair but Dean was quick to hold up a placating hand, stopping the older hunter from rushing for the basement door.

"He's joking, Bobby. Cas is Mr. Funnyman today."

"Shouldn't joke about stuff like that," Bobby grumbled before sitting back down.

Ignoring Bobby's complaint, Castiel turned to the sink, picked up a towel and as natural as could be, took the plate from Dean's hand and began drying it.

"Well _Hell_, Cas. If you're gonna dry, let me start a sink full."

Castiel shrugged his indifference, placing the plate into the cupboard where it belonged, but quickly changed his mind when Dean actually started running the water. He set the towel down and walked away from the sink. Halfway across the room, he stopped and pivoted back, pausing to concentrate inwardly. Bobby watched his progress and took note of the heavy thinking.

"Somethin' you want to get off your chest?" he asked.

Castiel glanced in Bobby's direction, nodded once and then lowered his head again in deep thought.

The silence brought Dean's attention around to him and upon seeing confusion and concern etched across Castiel's face; immediately began to tense.

"What's wrong?"

"I am curious, Dean. Earlier, when I arrived, I found you talking to yourself."

Dean nodded, waiting uneasily for the question.

"What did you mean, '_it's about the souls_'?"

Dean picked up the discarded dish towel, dried his hands and crossed to the table where his journal lay open. He grabbed it up and presented it to Castiel who gave it a sideways look before focusing again on Dean. Instead, Dean handed the journal to Bobby, who took it with more interest.

"It's something Death said to me. '_It's about the souls_.' I have a theory, but I've kind of been waiting."

"For what?" Castiel asked with a contemplative tilt of the head.

Dean bobbled his head back and forth, trying to decide whether he really wanted to admit his reason. Upon seeing the looks of the two men staring at him, he knew he was trapped and would have to give in.

"Waiting for Sam," he said uneasily.

"Dean."

Bobby's voice was soft and concerned, which immediately grated on Dean's nerve. He rolled his head loosely on his shoulders before fixing a dark look on the older hunter.

"Son, I hate to break this to you, but we don't know _when_ Sam's gonna wake up…if _ever_."

"You think I don't _know_ that?"

Bobby lifted his hands in surrender.

"All I'm sayin' is you can't shut down, holdin' out hope on your brother. If you've got something, then we can't sit on our hands, waitin' for him. We gotta _move_ on it."

"Bobby is right…"

"Yea, yea, yea. I know. I know, _alright_? I just…this is something Sam would want to be a part of. I _know_ it. I just thought that if I could wait for him, we'd…I don't know…work on this together."

Bobby reached out to put a hand on Dean's arm, but the young man pulled back.

"Come on. Don't," Dean said, shaking Bobby off. "I'm good."

"Alright then," Bobby submitted. "Then show me what you have."

Dean pulled a chair away from the table, spinning it on one leg and sat down, straddling the seat. "Okay…well first, I lost the bet."

With narrowed eyes and a heavy brow, Castiel studied Dean intently, wondering why, of all the men on earth, it was always _this_ man to tempt fate when it came to dealing with supernatural forces. Although having known Dean for nearly three years, Castiel's eyes had been opened to the lengths humans will go. And if Sam was involved, Castiel had come to realize that there was nothing Dean wouldn't do.

"There was a wager?" Castiel inquired.

His lips, thinning into a grimace, Dean looked guilty when he nodded his answer.

"I tried to bargain for Sam's soul and agreed to wear Death's ring for twenty-four hours."

"You made a deal?"

Dean nodded again, looking anywhere in the room except at Castiel.

"But you lost the wager?"

Castiel had made his way to the table and ghosted into a chair beside Bobby, his eyes never leaving Dean.

"Jeez, Cas. Stop with the twenty questions and let me _talk_. I screwed up, alright; took the ring off to save some guy who wasn't even _on_ the list."

"Kinda glad you did," Bobby interrupted with a light chuckle. "I'd have been next on your list if you hadn't."

"Yea, well there's _that_."

"If you lost the wager, then why is it that Sam's soul is restored?" Castiel asked.

"Death said '_we have use'_."

"Meaning what exactly?" Bobby asked.

Dean shook his head. "He didn't say…exactly. Just spouted a whole bunch of cryptic crap that I've spent the last two days trying to sort through."

He took the journal back from Bobby and flipped a few pages toward the front where he'd scribbled out a list. People, places, events; a list of dots that just needed to be connected. He needed fresh eyes on it. He needed Sam's eyes. The man could see patterns in chaos. But Dean would have to be patient and wait for Sam's assistance. In the meantime, he had Bobby and Cas to bounce ideas off of.

"I think," Dean paused to consider his wording. "I think it's up to Sam and me to put this right."

"This?" Castiel asked.

"This…_everything_. The monsters and the alphas and even your problems in Heaven, Cas. It's all because of us."

"Says who?" Bobby argued.

"Says Death. We're not meant to die and keep comin' back, again and again. Not that I'm not happy we have, but it's wrecking the natural order, screwing up the balance of the universe, or something. And I get it. I messed up my time as Death and I had to go back and put it right. It's just time that Sam and I do the same. No more deals, no more resurrections. When it's our time, it's our time, but until then, we gotta go back and _'mop up the mess_' and that includes helping you, Cas."

"Dean, there is nothing you can…"

"You're wrong, Cas. There's plenty I can do. Look, I've got this…list; a soul related list. And your pal, Balthazar is in the top five. Death says it's about the souls and wants me to keep looking into this and I intend to."

Both Castiel and Bobby could see and hear the determination set itself like concrete in Dean. There was no arguing with him, no reasoning. The only one who had a chance in Hell in dissuading him was in the basement in a virtual coma.

* * *

Dec 14th

Dean folded a page corner in the book he was reading to mark his spot and rubbed absentmindedly at his face, yawning. Peeling himself stiffly from the chair, he stood, lifting his hands above his head, stretching his arms and back. He twisted first left, then right and finally folded at the waist to reach for his toes, relishing the series of cracks that ran down his spine, almost groaning in pleasure. He looked down on the still form of his brother and huffed out a frustrated sigh.

Another two days and still no indication of Sam's recovery, other than his wrists, which Bobby had commented were healing nicely. But otherwise nothing; no soft snores, no rapid eye movement to indicate dreaming, just…nothing.

From time to time, while Dean was bent over his research books, he would catch himself watching Sam; checking to make sure he was still alive. His eyes would drift over and watch the slow rise and fall of Sam's chest, all the while holding his own breath, just in case he was imagining it.

It just didn't make sense. To the outside observer, there was physically nothing to keep Sam from waking up. It aggravated Dean to no end and when he wasn't researching or watching his brother, he was spouting off rude comments in hopes that Sam would be offended enough to hear him and wake up to defend himself.

"You _need_ to stop being such a princess, Sam. This whole Snow White business is getting old. You know that story was nothing more than a big midget gang bang anyway, right? I mean, Dopey…with those big ears…"

_Nothing. _

"And if you think I'm gonna play Prince Charming and give you a kiss…well, buddy, you've got another thing coming. Maybe Bobby's up for it," he suggested, slyly.

"Up for what?" Bobby asked suspiciously when he walked in on Dean leaning over his brother's ear, grinning wickedly.

Dean's ears flamed up shamefully at having been caught and he ducked his head. "Oops," he whispered to Sam.

"Quit harassing the boy, Dean. He'll wake up when he's ready."

"Are you sure?"

The tone of the man's voice was so soft and young, that Bobby had to actually look twice to be sure it had been Dean to ask the uncertain question.

He was immediately reminded of a fifteen year old who had sat by, nervously watching Bobby care for his little brother's shredded knees and hands. Gravel had a way of being unforgiving on blue jeans and little boys' knees, especially when the same little boy had been running for his life.

Smiling, Bobby remembered a much younger Sam asking for a lighter. The boy had danced around Bobby's suspicious questions and then grinned when the older hunter had reached into his pocket and produced a lighter anyway.

"_Don't_ blow anything up," had been Bobby's advice.

The eleven year old had frozen in his tracks, wide-eyed and unsure then how to proceed.

"Fine," Bobby gave in, waving the boy on. "Just don't _kill_ anybody."

Sam practically jumped for joy and sped away, throwing dust behind his quick feet.

Five minutes later, Bobby heard the unmistakable sound of an entire brick of black cats exploding and echoing across the salvage yard, followed shortly by an outraged cry.

"Ow! Son of a Bitch! Yea, you'd better freakin' run, Bitch, cuz I'm gonna beat your ass when I catch you."

Sam came tearing around the corner, running like the devil was on his heels, which wasn't far off. A second later, Dean cleared the hood of an old beat up Chevette in one bound and was pounding down the aisle after the younger boy. Spotting Bobby, Sam raced toward him, hoping to find safety in the man's presence, but Sam didn't get close enough to find out. Dean lunged out at Sam, laying himself completely out to catch Sam at the ankles, dropping the boy onto his hands and knees, sliding across the rough gravel.

In one fluid motion, Dean grabbed his brother by the arm, flipped Sam to his back and had raised his fist to pound the kid. But he stopped before completing the arc when he realized that the red he was seeing wasn't anger, but blood. Sam's hands were raised in defense of Dean's strike and those small hands were torn and bloody from his collision with the rocky ground. Upon an immediate inventory, Dean found the knees of Sam's jeans ripped wide open over knees and shins stripped of skin.

Bobby knelt down next to the boys, pushing Dean gently out of the way.

"I d…didn't mean…" Dean stuttered.

"I know, kid," Bobby assured. "Don't worry, we'll getcha taken care of," he directed at Sam. "Can you walk?"

Tears streaming down his face in dirty streaks, Sam nodded, looking to Dean for reassurance, but his brother was frozen in fear, his own eyes, pooling tearfully.

"Come on," Bobby groaned, pulling the youngest Winchester to his feet. "Let's get you inside and see what we got. Dean? A little help here?"

Dean was shaken from his trance and jumped up, pulling Sam's arm over his neck for support. Sam winced when Dean's hand brushed against his injured palm. Dean was quick to utter a quiet '_sorry, Sammy'_.

It was that same weak, sorrowful tone Dean used now and it was almost frightening to hear it from the man whom Bobby regarded as possibly the strongest person he knew.

That is what unconditional love can do to a man; it can make you strong as iron, but equally it can make you weak. It was more than unconditional love, Bobby knew. It was more than love between siblings. It was as close as one could get to love between father and son, because no matter how you sliced it, Dean had raised Sam. And for as long as Bobby could remember, Hell as long as Dean could remember, Sam had been more than Dean's responsibility; he'd been Dean's world.

Bobby was awash with a strong sense of Déjà vu. Over the last four days, he'd watched Dean slip easily back into a self-destructive funk while Sam lie in a coma. He wasn't eating and barely sleeping. The only things that seemed to hold his interest were the books Bobby brought down to him, the quickly depleting liquor supply and of course his never swaying focus on his brother. It was nearly as tragic as witnessing Dean's reaction to Sam's leap into the cage. The only difference was that then, Dean had promised Sam to go to Lisa and start a life. Now, Dean had nowhere else to turn, nothing more to do…than wait. And there wasn't anything that Bobby could say or do that would make the situation any easier for Dean. He could, however, do his best for Sam.

"Hey Sam," he greeted like it was any other day. Bobby tugged at Dean's sleeve and the older Winchester relinquished the bedside chair, allowing Bobby to have a seat beside his patient. He lifted Sam's wrist, first checking the wound and then closing his eyes to count out Sam's pulse. When his eyes opened again, they were clouded in confusion.

"Okay, it's that time. Abandon ship, Dean."

For a moment, Dean stood his ground, having become increasingly stubborn about leaving Sam's side.

"Unless you've _decided_ to help with the sponge bath today."

"Nope."

"I didn't think so. If you're interested, there's a new book in the library. I ordered it special for you."

"Thanks, Bobby," he said, turning to leave the room.

"And there's left over supper in the fridge," Bobby hollered as an afterthought.

Bobby sat quietly, listening to Dean's heavy feet drag up the stairs and then across the floor of the kitchen. He waited just long enough to be sure that there was no way for Dean to hear him.

"You're awake," he accused.

No answer.

Bobby reached down into the medkit he kept beneath the cot and his fingers closed around the cool handle of the scissors there. He lifted them up beside Sam's ear, opening and closing them for effect.

"Good a time as any to give you a greatly needed haircut. Take this mop of yours down to presentable."

"Like your brother's," Bobby added with a wicked grin.

This time, there was a flicker of movement around Sam's eyes; a slight pull around his mouth.

"Enough screwing around, Sam. I know you're awake."

Sam's eyes fluttered open, his pupils contracting as they adjusted to the light. His focus cleared and he found Bobby frowning down on him.

"How long have you been awake?"

"Na…" Sam's voice was non-existent, having been tattered during his re-souling and the days of disuse following.

"Don't try to speak. I'll go get you some water. Get Dean."

But before Bobby could even stand, Sam had brought a firm hand up to surround the older hunter's forearm, holding him in place. Bobby's eyes bounced from the white knuckled grasp to Sam's face.

The young man's eyes were frantic and Sam whimpered quietly, his head throbbing after he'd shook it a little too vigorously.

"Alright. Just the water then. Maybe a bottle of Tylenol?

Sam closed his eyes and relaxed his hold on Bobby, settling back into the thin cot mattress.

Bobby was back before Sam could even register his absence. He felt Bobby's hand cup the back of his head and pull him into a more upright position.

"Open up," was the soft instruction.

Sam opened his mouth and Bobby slid three pills from his hand past Sam's lips, followed shortly by the rim of a glass.

Sam reached out for the glass, taking a big gulp and then sputtered on the water as his throat closed in protest.

"Slow down. Small sips. I don't want you choking and throwing up all the meds I just gave you. Understand?"

Sam nodded, giving Bobby an apologetic look and took a slow, controlled drink.

Bobby put a hand across Sam's chest, got a firm grip under the man's upper arm and pulled him the rest of the way into a sitting position. He took the glass and poured another half glass, handing it back to Sam.

"Here, finish this and then I think you'd better stop for a while."

With Bobby's hand on his shoulder for support, Sam took the glass in two hands like a small child and tilted the water into his dry mouth. Over the rim, he watched Bobby closely; Bobby reciprocating the careful attention.

When the glass was empty, Bobby took it gently from Sam's hands and set it on the ground beside him.

"Better?"

Sam nodded his reply, sighing in relief. He tested his voice by clearing his throat, but frowned when he found it just as raw as it had been before the water. Giving up, he settled on whispering.

"How long…"

"Were you out?" Bobby filled in the rest of the question. He looked at his watch. It was nearing midnight. "A little over four days. How you feelin'?"

Sam raised his eyebrows in an exhausted look that over emphasized how worn out he looked.

"Tired," he admitted, dropping his chin to his chest. All of Sam's weight seemed to follow his head's lead, leaving him hunched over his lap with nothing to hold him up other than Bobby's firm hand.

"How long have you been awake?" Bobby repeated his earlier questions.

Sam lifted a hand, demonstrating by spreading his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "Bit."

"And you're avoiding Dean because…?"

Again Sam used a hand gesture to answer, his fingers and thumb opening and closing rapidly which Bobby understood to mean 'talking'.

"He talks too much? Well _duh_, Sam." Bobby chuckled lightly. "It's okay," Bobby added, "Dean's already asleep at the kitchen table. He must have passed out right after sitting down. He's precious...when he's sleeping."

Sam smirked ever so slightly from beneath the long hair that cascaded over his face. With his free hand, Bobby brushed the hair out of Sam's face and tucked it behind the young man's ear.

"It's good to see you, Kid."

Sam smiled again, this time the smile extended up to his tired eyes.

"Okay. Well, we've got a few things to take care of, namely this IV and the…uh…" Bobby pointed down toward Sam's lap. "I can take it all out and you'll have to take care of your own…personal needs, yourself. Or I can leave it in until you feel a little better. Personally, I think you should leave it in cuz that IV's keeping you hydrated. But it's your choice."

One look at the grumpy crinkle centered in Sam's forehead gave Bobby the only answer he needed to hear.

"Why did I bother asking? Alright, let's lay you back and get this taken care of."

Together they lowered Sam's back to the mattress and Bobby set about removing first the IV and then the catheter.

"Toughen up a little," Bobby joked when Sam winced at the removal of the catheter. Sam just huffed his disapproval and blushed.

Bobby helped Sam get into a clean change of clothes and now Sam was seated on the edge of the cot, elbows resting on his knees, a fresh glass of water in his hands.

"You wanna lay back down?"

"Nah." Sam's croaked out, his voice slowly returning.

"Alright. So…you know I won't be able to keep your brother out of here for very long, right?"

"An hour?"

"And I can trust you not to do something…stupid?"

Sam rolled his eyes and gestured with his hands at his worn out appearance.

"Where am I gonna go?"

"You got an hour. Don't make me regret this."

* * *

When Bobby had left the room, Sam breathed out a long, slow sigh of relief. He found it strange that after four days of unconsciousness that he would crave more silence and solitude, but that's exactly how he left. Like the trauma of whatever he had experienced had been such a concussing event that it had left him aching and his ears ringing. And the peace he had found upon awakening was blissful, but also endangered, because sure as anything, Sam knew his brother.

He knew that as soon as Dean found out that Sam was awake, the silence would end and the questions and the demands would begin. There would be an onslaught of hands; grasping, seeking, being sure that Sam was one hundred percent whole and safe.

Not that Sam minded. It was expected and necessary in Sam's world; even appreciated. But not yet…not right now. Now, Sam needed this.

Long, slender fingers raked through his hair and slid down over his face, first scrubbing the sleep from his eyes and then rubbing the stiffness from his jaw and neck. Closing his eyes, he rolled his head loose on his shoulders, enjoying the slight pull of the muscles down his back.

When he opened his eyes, his brows knitted together. On the floor next to the cot was a black leather journal. He reached down and grasped the book, juggling it slightly to keep a pen from rolling out of the place it was holding.

Opening it to the page, Sam saw Dean's handwriting. At least he was pretty sure it was Dean's. The handwriting was frantic and messy; messier than Dean's typical block letter scrawl. This was disjointed and chaotic and it was more than Sam's lethargic mind could or wanted to tackle. But one phrase leapt off the page and made Sam reconsider. '_It's my judgment that should be questioned_.'

Sam sat further back into the center of the cot and pulled his long legs with him, tucking them Indian style beneath him. With the journal lying in his lap, Sam began to read what appeared to be Dean's most recent entry.

_Hind sight being what it is, I'm feeling pretty worthless right now. The one true instinct that I have, to protect you, has led me to do the opposite. Cuz in saving you, I've put you in more danger. Stupid. _

_I don't know if you're gonna wake up and if you do, are you gonna be some kind of invalid that I'm gonna have to spoon feed for the rest of our lives? I mean, I'll do it. Don't get me wrong. But what kind of life is that for you? _

_I know. I could get you one of those chairs, with the mouth thing, so you can drive yourself around. We can paint flames on it and I'll get you a little license plate that says Sammy's wheels…that's not very funny…sorry._

_You just need to wake up. Cuz I'm not guaranteeing that I'm gonna be sane if you wait much longer. And then Bobby'll be left with two idiots to take care of. As it is, I think he's ready to pull the trigger on me. So that doesn't hold out much hope for you then, does it? _

_I just wish you'd freakin' wake up already, so that we know what we're dealing with. Cuz if I know, I can deal with anything. Instead, I'm sitting here with my thumb up my ass, playing research geek, praying to Castiel and to God (if the truth be told) that I haven't made the biggest mistake of my life. And isn't that just a bitch? I've spent the last, however many months, conducting this stupid 'case study'… A study of the judgment in the unsouled. What BS. Turns out it's my judgment that should be questioned. And for whatever it's worth, no matter how this turns out, I wouldn't do it any differently._

_

* * *

_

Dec 15th

Feeling the need to let Dean sleep, Bobby waited two hours before returning to Sam. He entered the room and found Sam hunched over the journal, chewing on his bottom lip, and twirling a pen in a loose pattern that his hand had memorized. There were three other books open, spread out all around him on the cot. He looked…in his element.

"What are you doin'? You're supposed to be taking some time before I let loose the tornado."

"Oh, yea. I know. But Dean's got a whole case file going on here and I guess I got sucked in."

"Are you _supposed_ to be reading that?" Bobby asked nervously. "I mean, you _just_ woke up. Can't you just rest for a bit?"

The thought occurred to him that it might end up being a full time job keeping this kid from scratching at the wall Death had installed in his head.

"Four days isn't enough rest, Bobby? I mean, Dean's got something here. There's a connection and if you can bring me my laptop I think I can get some of this sorted out."

"Yea, Dean's already said as much. Look, you two will have all the time in the world to work on this, just…for now…go easy."

Sam looked up at Bobby and saw the worry sketched out there across his face. Recognizing it as true concern, Sam gave in. He clicked the pen closed, set it down inside the journal and then systematically shut each of the books lying around him. When he was done, Sam folded his hands in his lap and looked expectantly toward Bobby.

Bobby was struck by the sight and almost laughed out loud. Sam looked like a kid on Christmas morning waiting patiently to be handed his first present.

"So, you're ready then?" Bobby chuckled.

"Is he awake?"

"_No_," Bobby said abruptly. "Do you think I'd be able to keep him out of here if he was?"

"Oh. Well, don't wake him up. I can tell he hasn't been sleeping."

"Yea? How's that?" Bobby's mouth twitched with amusement.

Even without seeing or talking to each other, these boys had such an ingrained sense of one another. It was like that creepy communication between sets of twins; unexplainable.

"This journal. His handwriting has gotten progressively worse. He's practically writing in shorthand by the end…Dean doesn't know shorthand," Sam added wryly.

"No, he hasn't had much sleep. You know as well as I do that he's not gonna take care of himself if you're down and out."

"Yea. But he should."

Nodding his head, Sam lowered his eyes to his hands and fidgeted with the healing wounds on his wrists, feeling the guilt wash over him.

"Hell _yes_, he should. But neither of us are ever gonna get that through his thick skull, so there's no use getting' all worked up about it. Dean on the other hand will get worked up if he finds out you've been awake all this time and we've left him up there to sleep it all away. He's waited long enough. So…I'm gonna head up there now."

Sam continued to nod without looking up to meet Bobby's empathetic gaze. Bobby rested a warm hand on the young man's head, offering him comfort.

"S'not life or death, Son. Y'all are gonna be just fine, so quit your worrying."

He gave Sam's hair a good ruffle and the turned for the door.

"Still gonna cut that hair, though," he tossed over his shoulder.

His shoulders shaking in a silent laugh, Sam smiled, watching the older hunter round the corner and climb his way up the stairs.

* * *

"You hear me?" Bobby prodded gently, "He's up and asking for you."

"Is he okay? How's he look?" was Dean's hesitant reply.

"Tired," he answered, honestly.

Bobby registered the worry set firmly in Dean's expression and he gave Dean's shoulder another reassuring squeeze.

"I didn't know I had a couple of girls on my hands, pussy-footin' around like you are. He looks like Sam. Sounds like Sam. Hell, he even smiles, frowns and pouts like Sam. So, what are you waiting for?"

"What does he remember?"

"_Hell_, Dean. I don't know. I didn't ask him. If I had to guess, I'd say not much, but I don't know and I wasn't about to go pushin' boundaries to find out. Go. See. Your Brother."

Bobby grabbed Dean by the collar of his shirt and pulled, leaving Dean with no option but to follow the lead. Once standing, Dean straightened his shirt and took a deep breath; releasing it slowly. He gave Bobby a parting scowl and took the first step toward the hallway leading to the basement.

Slowly, one step at a time, Dean made his way down the steep staircase, stopping at the last step to calm his nerves.

Soft light filtered through the basement from the room in which Sam had resided for the previous four days. It was the same room in which Dean had also spent the same four days, but this time there was a completely different feel; a new, warmer feel to it.

He approached the door cautiously and felt a wave of relief flood his entire body at the sight of Sam sitting cross-legged on the cot, waiting for him.

"Hey," Sam greeted, sheepishly.

"Hey," Dean echoed. "Don't get up," he quickly added when he saw Sam try to rise off the cot on shaky legs.

Everything else was forgotten. Dean crossed the room quickly, taking Sam by the elbow and guiding him back down to his seat on the cot. He sat down next to Sam and together, they sat in silence, a matching pair, shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, with nothing between them but the quiet communication that went on internally.

Dean was the first to speak, having to clear his throat around the lump that had formed there. Ever so slightly, he turned his head; just far enough to catch sight of Sam's profile.

"You okay?"

Sam smirked, crookedly. The first, true dimple Dean had seen in months emerged and Dean couldn't help but smirk too.

"Yea. You?" Sam asked.

"Better now. You hungry?"

"Famished. What about you?"

"Eh, I could eat."

The brothers smiled again, this time actually looking at each other. Bobby was right, Sam did look tired. But at the same time, there was a spark in his eyes that Dean hadn't seen in years.

"Holy crap, I've missed you."

Dean surprised himself with the outburst and then felt his heart sink when Sam recoiled slightly at the strong show of emotion.

"Too soon?" Dean was quick to cover, grimacing with embarrassment.

"Maybe a little." Sam agreed.

"Do this later?"

"Please?"

"Absolutely. Come on, let's get you upstairs and fed," Dean announced, smacking Sam sharply on knee.

He stood and reached down, offering Sam his right hand. His brother accepted it gratefully and together they pulled him to his feet.

Face to face it was hard to ignore the emotions running high between them as they waited for Sam to become steady on his feet.

"What next?" Sam asked clearing his throat of the lump that had risen there.

"Next? We put one foot in front of the other. Simple as that, Sammy."

Bracing Sam at the elbow, they made their way out of the panic room and toward the stairs. There Dean helped Sam onto the first step and then with a hand squarely on his back, they carefully climbed stairs, leaving behind the salt covered, iron walls and Dean's stack of research books. The black leather journal lay open on the chair next to the cot, right where Sam had laid it. On the bottom of the page beneath Dean's panicked confession was a quote in Sam's precise script.

_When you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss will gaze into you. – Friedrich Nietzsche_

_

* * *

_

And that, as they say, is all folks.

And before anyone cries that it can't be all. I'm sorry. You're right. I didn't do the heart wrenching makeout, I mean, makeup scene. I also purposefully left it all ambiguous and open for interpretation. I've found that as this story has progressed that I've attempted to stay truer to the show, to blend my chapters into their episodes and well...it's their story. I'm not ready to lay out any definitive answers on this latest turn of events. We all have theories, but this time...I'm waiting for the actual writers to tell me what really happened.

I want to thank everyone that has taken the time to read. And doubly thank everyone that has found it in their hearts to review. I love the reviews. I'm such a review whore. It's so much fun to first, hear what y'all think and then to spam you back with PMs.

I also wanted to thank...SINCERELY thank, ZaraZee, my wonderful beta, who took so much of her own personal time to comb through this with me. Her guidance and encouragement and friendship mean the world to me. And she even managed to do this SOOOO close to the holiday. Happy Christmas Eve, by the way. :D

Time for a Holiday Break..but I have ideas already brewing...So, if you haven't already read, What's Wrong With Sam & Baby, you might do so. Cuz, I'm diving back into that verse for at least a one-shot.

Thanks All!

Love you!

Theresa


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